


After All This Time

by eragon19



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Fighting, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Frottage, Greg has the world's largest crush on a certain consulting detective, John and Greg friendship, John is a very good friend, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Up, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Rimming, an oblivious detective, post series three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-04-12 10:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4476611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eragon19/pseuds/eragon19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has had a feelings for Sherlock the longest time, unfortunately he has no idea what to do about them. Luckily he has John, who's willing to listen to him moan about his problem. </p><p>John knows Sherlock has more than just friendly feelings for Greg. Since Greg is too afraid to make a move and Sherlock doesn't seem to know how, John decides to step in and give them the push the two idiots need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic, so tell me what you think. Tags will be added as the fic lives up to its rating.

 

*************

Greg let out a groan and dropped his head to the pub table with a thunk. Turning so the edge of the table dug into his cheek, he glared up at John, who merely smirked in response.

“I just don’t know what to do John!” Greg groaned.

John rolled his eyes, propped his chin in his hands and smiled fondly down at his friend.

“I’ve _told_ you what to do, several times in fact.”

Greg groaned again and buried his face in arm.

They were talking about the same thing they’d been talking about the last few times Greg had met John for a beer. The thing in question being Sherlock Holmes, more specifically Greg’s embarrassingly huge crush on the consulting detective.

 

************

 

It had all come out into the open on a night a couple weeks ago, in the same pub they were in now. After having far too many pints John had drunkenly told Greg about the entire Mary fiasco. Including Mary’s subsequent disappearance after John told her he could never look at her the same again. Greg had tried to console John as best as he could, and in his own inebriated state, had confessed his feelings for Sherlock. How much he loved the detective, how terrified he was that he’d find out.

The next day, while nursing a massive hangover Greg regretted his actions. Not because he thought John would rat him out to Sherlock, but because he feared he’d opened himself to a world of teasing from his friend. Also, he wasn’t sure what John’s feelings for Sherlock were exactly, and the thought of his friend and his long term crush getting together, leaving him out in the cold, made his stomach turn.

It turned out Greg’s fears were in vain. The next day John showed up at his flat, told him he and Sherlock were nothing more than the best of friends, and had asked Greg what he was going to do about his feelings for the detective.

 

**********

 

Now here they were.

Greg normally wasn’t a man who liked to talk about his feelings, but John was just so damn easy to talk to that Greg found himself opening up. “I’ve been telling you, you need to try to spend time with him outside of the cases. Why don’t you come over to ours for a pint more often?”

“But what’s the point John? It’s not like Sherlock feels the same way.” Greg sighed, sitting up and morosely taking a swig of his beer.

John smirked at Greg, sitting back and folding his arms.

Greg looked at him, eyebrows rising in surprise, “What, do you think he does?”

John just kept smirking.

“John!”

“Well he did spend at least five minutes checking out your arse last week.”

Greg choked on his beer, and John’s smirk turned into a wicked grin.

“What?” Greg sputtered, not daring to believe it. “When?”

“During the Butterfeild case, when you were looking under the bed.”

Greg stared, mouth slightly agape.

“But-but Sherlock told me the missing ear-ring might be under there!” Greg sputtered.

John simply raised his eyebrows, and gave Greg a knowing look.

“So-so he did that on _purpose._ ”

“It would seem so mate. Along with the time he had you reach for the books on the high shelf and help me lift that trunk.  He may have muttered a comment about your arms in the cab when I complained.”

Greg simply stared at John, eyes wide.

“Yeah, can you say something? It’s getting a bit scary now.” John said, his grin going from wicked to fond.

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Greg said accusingly.

“I was waiting for you to make a move on your own. Since you aren’t, consider this a helpful push.”

“It’s Sherlock though. How am I supposed to make a move on _Sherlock_?” Greg knew his voice was heading into whining territory. He hated it, but it couldn’t be helped.

John sighed and Greg couldn’t blame him. John had been a bloody saint these past few weeks, ever since he found out about Greg’s feelings. He listened to Greg whine and moan and groan over Sherlock, even when his own problems where ten times worse. A former assassin ex-wife tended to do that. Greg suddenly felt guilt wash over him. Here he was whining about his petty crush and not even asking John how he was doing.

“Enough about this. How are things with you John?” 

John gave Greg a pointed look.

“I’m not trying to change the subject, I swear.” Greg said raising his hands as if in surrender, “I’ve been a dick, only complaining to you and not even letting you complain in return.”

“You’ve been a big help Greg really. All everyone else wants to do is console me over the divorce, and they don’t even know about the assassin part,” John said, giving Greg a grin. “Talking to you is nice, it’s like an escape from it all, you know? I can focus on someone else’s problems instead of my own. Sherlock’s been a big help too. He’s actually a really good listener, once he’s inclined to listen.”

Again he gave Greg a pointed look.

“Come over tomorrow night and have a beer. Sherlock’s really fun when he’s watching crappy telly, trust me.”

“I know he is,” Greg said absent mindedly, he just gotten a text from the man himself, asking how long he and John planned to kill their remaining brain cells at the pub. Greg smiled and texted him back, telling him not to worry he’d be sure to keep enough brain cells in tact to give him cases.

“You do?”

Greg looked up from his phone to see John giving him a curious look. John was always curious about Sherlock’s life before.

“Yeah it was when he was staying by mine for a while. I’d fished him out of a drug den, and he begged me not to send him to Mycroft’s. So I let him stay for a while. He was gone most of the day, but at night we’d eat dinner, well I’d force him to eat, and we’d watch crap telly. Those ones where they tested who was the father were his favourite.”

Greg couldn’t help the note of fondness that entered his voice as he spoke. He felt a smile tug at his lips as he thought back to those days. Not the days when he had to track Sherlock down and pull him out of drug dens, or the times when he had to help him detox. But the times when Sherlock had cases and was content and happy. When he would stay at Greg’s while he was in between flats, and they could just be together. Greg felt a fierce determination to keep Sherlock happy and healthy. It was the way he always felt when he thought about Sherlock in the times back then.

Greg left his mental reprieve to find John smiling at him, his eyes were terribly fond.

“You’re defiantly coming over tomorrow. Bring a cold case along, you can leave it as a sort of parting gift for Sherlock.”

Greg bit his lip, he and Sherlock hadn’t just hung out, with no cases involved, in years.

“But John-

“No buts Greg. I live with him remember, so trust me he sees you as more than a friend.”

“Has he said anything?” Greg said, hope swelling in his chest.

“He’s Sherlock, of course he hasn’t said anything. Well except for a few obscure comments here and there. Plus the fact he asks you to lift and reach for things just to see your muscles flex.”

Greg felt his face heat up, Jesus he had it bad.

“Tomorrow it is then,” he muttered into his beer.

“Around six should be good.” John said, pleased smirk firmly in place.

 

*************

 

The next night Greg stood in front of his mirror cald only in his towel. The comments John had made the day before kept playing over and over in his mind. They had been since he’d left the pub.

Sherlock liked seeing his muscles. Every time the thought crossed his mind Greg felt his cheeks heat up. It was bloody embarrassing it was. He was a grown man and a detective at the Yard for Christ’s sake, a little admiration shouldn’t make him blush like a teenager. Greg knew he was lying to himself, it wasn’t the compliment that had him blushing. It was who the complement was coming from.

Bloody Sherlock Holmes, with his tall graceful figure, lush arse and perfect cheek bones.

Bloody Sherlock Holmes who liked Greg’s arms.

Looking in the mirror Greg took stock of what he saw. He knew he wasn’t bad looking. True he wasn’t as fit as his uni days, but as an active member of the Yard he had to keep in shape. That being said he did still have a bit of pudge over his stomach that refused to budge, no matter how many crunches he did. His arms were in good shape though.

_“He may have muttered a comment about your arms in the cab”_

John’s words echoed in his head. Feeling just the tiniest bit silly Greg curled his right arm in front of his body, clenched his fist and flexed the muscles in his arm. The muscles in his forearm stood out long and wiry again his skin, while the muscles in his bicep bugled out. Flexing the other arm, Greg smiled at himself in the mirror. Yes his arms weren’t bad at all.

 

**********

Greg pushed open the door to 221B and tried to calm his nerves. He tried to calm himself by treating it as a night with the boys, but that wasn’t working. Taking a deep breath Greg climbed the stairs and entered the flat, giving the open door a cursory knock as he entered.

“Hey Sherlock.” Greg said.

The detective was sitting in his usual armchair, legs elegantly crossed and his hands steepled in front of his lips. He was wearing the dark purple shirt Greg loved the most, the one that made his skin glow and his hair look an even richer brown than it was. Paired with black trousers he was the picture of easy elegance.

Sherlock looked up at Greg’s greeting, his eyes flitted up and down Greg’s body. Usually Greg thought this was Sherlock making his usual silent deductions. Since his talk with John however, he now wondered if it was more than that. Greg wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking or not, but he could swear Sherlock’s eyes lingered longer than strictly necessary on his upper arms. Maybe it helped that Greg had worn a t-shirt that was a bit too tight around the shoulders and arms than was strictly necessary.

“Evening Lestrade,” Sherlock said, eyes finally landing on Greg’s face.

God those eyes.

“Ah Greg you’re here.” John said, coming down the stairs from his room, “the food should be here any minute.”

He gave Greg a friendly squeeze on the shoulder and a grin as he passed him to get to the kitchen.

“Want a drink?” he called out.

“Nothing me thanks,” Greg called back, as he flopped down on the couch, dropping his bag on the floor next to him.

“Just tea for me,” Sherlock drawled, “any interesting cases Lestrade?” he continued, his eyes flicking from Greg to the bag on the floor.

“Nothing new, but I did bring you a cold case. Triple murder, locked room.”

Sherlock’s eyes practically glowed, he stood up and began striding toward Greg’s bag.

“It’s for _after,”_ he said, grabbing the bag out of Sherlock’s reach and dumping it behind the couch.

Sherlock froze and stared at him for a moment before his face fell in to its usual case denial pout. The one that Greg had seen too many times to count.

Smiling Greg leaned back in his seat ad crossed his arms over his chest, well aware of how his arms looked when he did it. It was still a shock when Sherlock’s eyes flicked down to his arms and lingered. It just wasn’t typical Sherlock behaviour, at least it hadn’t been until John had brought it to his attention. Greg felt a smirk tug at his lips.

“Looks like you’re going to have to suffer through being social for a few hours before you get it.”

Sherlock’s eyes snapped back to his face. Letting out a huff of annoyance Sherlock rolled his eyes and planted his knees onto the couch next to Greg. He leaned over the back, arm straining to grab the bag. Greg swallowed, feeling his throat go dry. Sherlock bum, his perfectly _delectable_ bum, was just a few inches away from his face. Standing up, Greg fished his mind from the gutter and reached for the detective.

“I said it’s for _after_.”

Reaching out Greg wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and pulled him up off the couch. He readied himself to be pushed away. Instead he was surprised when he felt Sherlock’s hands slide onto his forearms, giving them a barely-there squeeze as Greg pulled him up. Greg took a moment to appreciate the warmth of Sherlock in his arms, and how well he seemed to fit there. His curls where in Greg’s face and Greg couldn’t help but notice how soft they felt, or how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss the back of Sherlock’s neck.

 Sherlock was on his feet now and by all rights Greg should let go. Instead the two of them stood there, Greg’s arms around Sherlock’s waist. Greg felt Sherlock’s fingers lightly trace the muscles of his forearms and feeling inspired Greg flexed his forearms, tightening his hold on Sherlock a little. He felt his heart rate pick up when he heard the detective’s breath hitch ever so slightly.

Greg held his breath as he waited to see what would happen next. Just then the doorbell buzzed, shattering whatever it was that was going on between them.

“That’ll be the food,” John said, coming out the kitchen.

Greg hurriedly stepped back, releasing Sherlock’s waist and banging his calves on the coffee table behind them.

“I’ll get it John, don’t worry!” Greg said, his voice louder than it needed to be. Feeling his face heat up, Greg charged down the steps to the front door.

God he was an idiot. There was no need to dart out of the living-room like that. As he paid the delivery man- luckily his wallet was in his pocket, having to go back upstairs for money would have added insult to injury- he wondered what the hell that had been with Sherlock. He was sure Sherlock had liked… whatever that was, but- but now was not the time to for over analysing. He save that for when he was home in bed later.

When he re-entered the flat, John was seated on the couch and there was no sign of Sherlock anywhere.

“Food’s here,” Greg said lamely, holding up the bag.

“Great, thanks Greg.” John gave him a smile, “just try to relax mate,” he whispered as he took the food into the kitchen.

 

***********

The rest of the evening was pleasant enough. Sherlock emerged from his room and the three of them ate dinner together on the couch, while watching crappy telly, as promised. Greg had ended up between Sherlock and John, on purpose he assumed. At first Sherlock kept rigidly to his side, staying quite as John and Greg chatted. However as the evening progressed, Sherlock started to relax and the predicted crap telly commentary began.

As the evening winded down, Greg found himself with his third beer in hand, Sherlock’s warm thigh pressed against his and found he was having the most fun he had in a long time. Glancing at the time Greg felt shocked, it was almost midnight, and he hadn’t even noticed the time going. Taking the last swig of his beer, he stood up and stretched.

“It’s been fun lads, but it’s getting late and some us aren’t as young as we used to be.” he said giving a little self-deprecating laugh.

John yawned and stretched, “Seconded, Greg” he muttered, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Sherlock just rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘amateurs’

Greg grinned, “I had fun though, we should do this more often.”

“We should, yeah,” John yawned.

“Well I’ll just be going then,” Greg said, suddenly feeling awkward.

John stood up and patted him on the shoulder, easing the awkwardness somewhat.

“I’ll walk you down.” He said, blinking sleepily at him.

Greg opened his mouth to protest, when Sherlock cut in, “I’m sure Greg can navigate the stairs on his own John, you on the other hand I’m not so sure about.”

John gave his flatmate a glare before turning back to Greg.

“Really John, its fine. I can see myself out.”

John gave him a look, a tiny smirk coming to his lips.

“I’m glad you had fun Greg, see you soon alright?” he said, clapping Greg in the shoulder once more, before heading for his room.

Turning to Sherlock, Greg gave him a smile. “Well I guess I’ll see you around then Sherlock,” he gave the detective a tiny wave before heading for the door.

“Lestrade wait.”

Greg stopped, hope blooming in his chest.

“Yes Sherlock?” he said, turning to the detective.

Sherlock was standing by the couch, hands in his pockets.

“My case.”

“What?” Greg blinked at him, that hadn’t been what he’d been expecting.

“You said I could have the case after,” Sherlock said, his voice surprisingly patient.

“Oh yes of course, the case.”

Greg quickly strode over to the couch and, adopting the same position Sherlock had earlier, reached behind it for his bag.

“Here you are then.” Greg said, holding out the file, his voice brighter than it needed to be to cover up how silly he felt.

Sherlock was staring at him, slightly wide-eyed, his cheeks pink.

“Alright there Sherlock?” Greg asked, not knowing what else to do.

“Fine.” The detective snapped, seeming to come back to himself.

He snatched the file from Greg’s hand and flopped down into his armchair.

“Aren’t you going to bed?”

Sherlock shot him an incredulous look over the top of the file, as if that was the most moronic thing he’d ever heard Greg say.

“I suppose I should know better,” Greg said, smiling sheepishly, one hand coming up to starch the back of his neck.

Sherlock’s eyes softened slightly, his lips hitching up into a tiny smile.

“Well, good-bye Sherlock,” Greg said turning for the door.

“Good-night Lestrade, thank you for the case.” Sherlock called after him.

Throwing one last grin over his shoulder at the detective, Greg headed out of the flat.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Sherlock have a close encounter in his office, and Greg works up the courage to do something he always wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one's a little shorter, but it seemed like a natural stopping point where I ended it. Never fear, more will come soon!

It was two days after Greg had gone over to Baker Street and he had been up to his eyeballs in a new case. He and Sherlock hadn’t spoken since that night. John had texted though, and said the Sherlock was close to cracking the cold case Greg had given him.

Today Greg had finally gotten a break in his own case, which had involved chasing the guilty party down several alleys, vaulting a fence and a scuffle with the target. Unfortunately, the scuffle had resulted in Greg getting elbowed in the face and the culprit falling on their own knife. Mrs Shara Smith had died in Greg’s arms, her blood soaking into his shirt and his head throbbing from the blow to the head she had dealt him.

Now Greg sat at his desk with an ice pack pressed to his head. He felt shaken. Being a member of the Yard for so long had caused him to see some awful things. A lot of them much worse than what he had seen today, but the shock of what had happened was still fresh in his mind. Every time he closed his eyes he could see Shara Smith’s face, the blood leaking out of her mouth as Greg held her, trying to stop the bleeding. He’d been looking into her eyes, trying to calm her down, when she died. He could remember the exact moment her eyes went from being full of fear, to blank with death. 

Just then the door to Greg’s office banged open. Sherlock filled the doorway, smiling triumphantly.

“I’ve solved it Greg!” he announced, grandly.

All Greg could do was blink owlishly at the detective. What the hell was he talking about?

Sherlock’s smile slowly melted as he took in the look on Greg’s face and the ice pack pressed to his face. His eyes widened as they alighted on the blood splattered over Greg’s shirt.

“What. Happened.” he asked, his voice deadly serious.

Greg glanced down at his own shirt, then back up to Sherlock’s face. The detective’s eyes were blazing, his eyes boring into Greg’s.

“Oh this?” Greg said, looking back at his own shirt to escape Sherlock’s gaze. That look did things to him, even when his head was throbbing and he was covered in blood, it still did things to him. Luckily for Greg, it pushed all thoughts of Shara Smith to the back of his mind.

“There was a chase down an alley, the Smith case. I’m n-

Greg’s words were cut off as Sherlock stalked around the desk toward him. Greg pushed his chair back and turned it around, preparing to stand up. Sherlock didn’t give him a chance. He stalked right up to Greg and dropped into a crouch in front of his chair. He stared intently into the DI’s eyes for a moment, his eyes flicking from Greg’s right eye to his left. Without saying a word, Sherlock’s eyes moved to the ice pack pressed to his temple. Gently wrapping his hand around Greg’s wrist he pulled the pack away, revealing the ugly bruise Mrs. Smith’s elbow had left.

Greg was trying his best to keep calm. Sherlock was so close that Greg could see all the details of his beautiful eyes, from the delicate wrinkles in the corners, to the black dot in one iris.

As if that wasn’t bad enough Sherlock suddenly shuffled closer to better see the bruise, one of his hands resting on Greg’s thigh for balance. He was now crouching between Greg’s legs, and Greg was trying desperately to stop all the thoughts about what else Sherlock could do in this position from showing on his face. Despite his best efforts, Greg felt his face heating up. All he had to do was turn to the side and he would be kissing Sherlock’s cheek.

“It was their elbow.” Sherlock said softly, his voice a deep rumble right next to Greg’s ear.

He pulled back slightly so he could see Greg’s face again, his hand still resting on Greg’s thigh. Greg blinked at him.

“The attacker elbowed you here,” Sherlock said again, one hand gently brushing Greg’s temple, before coming to rest on his shoulder. “The blood on your shirt is theirs too, judging from the splatter pattern and the fact that if you’d been stabbed you would be at the hospital, not here. You were close to them when the stabbing occurred, possibly holding the person. Since you obviously didn’t stab them yourself and it couldn’t have been anyone else, no one would stab someone when police officer is so close, the only conclusion is that they injured themself in some way to cause extreme blood loss while you two were struggling. Judging by your subdued expression and the fact you’re not being hassled with paper work, the person in question is most likely dead.”

Greg stared at Sherlock, floored by a brilliant deduction and the closeness of the detective.

“Umm, yes t-that’s right, perfectly right. She fell on her own knife during the struggle.”

Sherlock smiled, the wrinkles next to his eyes deepening in a terribly endearing manner. It wasn’t appropriate at all, given what had happened earlier, but Greg couldn’t help himself. He slid his hand over Sherlock’s against his neck. The smile on Sherlock’s face disappeared, his expression morphing into something more serious. His eyes seared into Greg’s, a mixture of want and uncertainty reflected in their depths.

Greg gave Sherlock’s hand a squeeze, his thumb rubbing against the detective’s wrist. He had to do it, he had to kiss him. It was probably too soon. He should probably wait until he’d actually taken Sherlock on a proper date, if he ever worked up the courage to, but Sherlock was _right there._ He was right there, crouched between Greg’s legs, one hand on his thigh and the other pressed warm against his neck under Greg’s hand.

Keeping his hand over Sherlock’s, Greg slowly leaned forward. Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly, before they flicked down to Greg’s lips, his tongue peeking out to wet his own lips. His hand tightened ever so slightly against Greg’s neck, encouraging him closer, as he leaned in. Greg’s eyes began to fall shut. This was it, they were going to-

Suddenly the door to Greg’s office flew open.

“Sir,” a breathless Sally Donavon said, “I just need a-

Both Sherlock and Greg’s heads snapped in her direction, then Sherlock hurriedly got to his feet, putting a few feet between them. Greg felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him. Of all the bloody times for Sally to barge in.

“Is there something you wanted Sargent?” Greg snapped, as Sally gaped at them.

“Erm- yes, I just needed your signature on these.”

Greg snatched the report out of her hands, feeling annoyed. It wasn’t really Sally’s fault, but she should have knocked.

“Did you check it?” he asked her, eyes on the report.

“Yes Sir.”

Greg flipped to the last page and scrawled his signature. Sally was meticulous when it came to reports. Wordlessly he handed it back to her, and she turned and fled his office. Greg turned his attention back to Sherlock. The detective was glaring after Sally with twin spots of colour high on his cheeks.  

“Sorry about that.” Greg said, scratching the back of his neck and giving Sherlock a warm smile when the detective turned to face him.

A tiny smile quirked at the corners of Sherlock’s lips and, to Greg’s surprise, his blush deepened. Greg couldn’t keep his grin from widening. Here was power-house consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, standing in his office and blushing over an almost kiss. Quelling the urge to ruffle the detective’s hair, Greg decided to save him from further embarrassment.

“When you came in, you said you’d solved something?”

“Oh, um yes. The cold case you gave me. I solved it.” Sherlock said, hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Greg gestured to the seat in front of his desk, “Tell me.”

Sherlock grinned and sat down, “Well, first of all it’s clear from the files that the detectives involved in the original investigation must have been blind. There’s no other way they could have missed all the important facts.”

Greg smiled and leaned back in his chair, the blood on his shirt and the ache in his head forgotten as he listened to Sherlock break down the elements of the case. The horror of what had happened today slowly faded as Sherlock took him through the facts in the case.

“God, I love this man.” The thought breezed through Greg’s mind as he watched Sherlock become more and more animated as he described his findings. The thought didn’t even feel like that big of a revelation. In a way, Greg must have always known how he felt, now it was as if he was finally acknowledging it.

“That settles it then,” Greg thought, “I need to ask Sherlock Holmes on a date.”

 

***********

 

“Really?” John said, choking on his beer.

They were at their usual pub the next day and Greg had just told him his plan to ask out Sherlock. He’d wanted to do it yesterday, after Sherlock had given him the run down on the cold case, but Greg had lost his nerve.

“Yes, really,” Greg said trying not to sound defensive, “didn’t you want this happen?”

“Yes, I did, and I’m glad.” John said, grinning, “I’m just surprised it didn’t take more, you know, prodding.”

Greg rolled his eyes, “Some more prodding may be needed, since I still have to work up the nerve to actually do it.”

 “Happens to the best of us mate.” John said, he nodded toward Greg’s phone, “why not do it now?”

Greg gulped, “It’s too noisy here,” he said quickly, “maybe later wh-

“This is me prodding,” John said, giving him a flat look, “You could go in the bathroom, it’s quite there, or outside.”

Greg’s stomach did a nervous flip. Good lord, he was nearly 50, he shouldn’t being getting nervous over asking someone out on a date! His mind flitted over the moment in his office yesterday, at how his heart had raced when Sherlock got close to him. Hell, his heart raced when Sherlock _looked_ at him. He had to do something, they couldn’t go on like this.

“Fine.” Greg ground out.

Swallowing he grabbed his phone off the table and headed out of pub, dialling Sherlock’s number. He listened to it ring, his stomach churning with anxiety. Through the pub window John gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs up.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock’s baritone rumbled through the speaker.

“Hey Sherlock,” Greg said suddenly feeling incredibly awkward.

“Is there a case?”

“Erm-well no.” Greg’s hand came up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Oh”

Sherlock sounded confused, and understandably so, Greg hadn’t called before unless it was for a case. They usually texted.

An awkward silence stretched between the two as Greg struggled with what to say.

“Well I was actually calling to see if you were busy tonight?” he finally blurted, feeling like complete idiot.

“Busy? No, I’m not.” Sherlock said, still sounded confused.

“Right, that’s good. Erm-“, Greg shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. It was now or never.

 “I was wondering if you wanted to have dinner tonight? Since you’re free and all.”

Silence. Greg felt his stomach drop into his shoes. Oh God, he was going to say no. Oh God he-

“What?” Sherlock said softly. Oh good, he hadn’t heard, now Greg could lie and say he’d said something else. No he couldn’t do that, he’d come this far.

“What did you say?” Sherlock said again.

Greg wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking, but he could swear Sherlock sounded hopeful.

“I was wondering, since you’re free tonight, if you’d like to have dinner?” Greg said, feeling confidence bloom in his chest.

“Dinner? With you?” Sherlock sounded flustered.

“Yeah.” Greg said, “I was thinking Nalini’s, at seven?”

“Oh, um yes. That-that sounds good.”

He didn’t sound very enthusiastic about the idea and Greg felt his confidence slip a little.

“If you don’t want to come its-

“No! No. I want to!” Sherlock cut in, sounding frantic, “I want to. Really Greg. Nalini’s at seven? I’ll meet you there.”

“Well actually I was thinking I could pick you up at Baker Street?”

“Yes, that sounds good.”

Greg could hear the smile in Sherlock’s voice and felt the knot of tension in his stomach release. He gave John a thumbs up through the window and the doctor’s return smile was blinding.

“Nalini’s at seven it is.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, the first date!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Sherlock's first date!

Greg pressed the buzzer at 221B the next night, and smoothened down the front of his shirt as he waited for Sherlock to come down. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm his nerves. It would be fine, he just had to relax.

Surprisingly, it was John who answered the door not Sherlock.

“Hey Greg, Sherlock said he’d be a few minutes so why don’t you come on up?” John said, smiling at him.

Greg gulped and nodded.

“He’s been excited for the entire day,” John whispered when Greg stepped inside, “Been playing happy songs on the violin, can’t keep still. It’s cute really, Sherlock’s first date.”

“Really?” Greg said, feeling his nerves ease a little, “He’s really that excited?”

“He changed his shirt six times, kept muttering you’d seen him in this one or that one before.”

Greg felt his grin getting wider. John looked at him out of the corner of his eye as they climbed the stairs, a fond smile on his face. He’d been smiling like that a lot lately.

“Oh, and if Sherlock wants you to come up for coffee after the date, I’ll be out so feel free.” John said with a wink, as he pushed open the door to the flat.

Greg rolled his eyes and then smiled coyly at him, “Have a date of your own do you?”

“Actually, yes I do.”

“That’s great John, anyone I know?” Greg said, feeling happy for his friend. John deserved to be happy after everything Mary had done to him.

“Actually yes it is. You won’t believe it, but it’s-

The soft sound of a throat being cleared interrupted John.

Sherlock stood in the kitchen doorway and he looked absolutely _scrumptious_. He was wearing a dark grey suit paired with a blood red shirt that Greg really had never seen before. The colour of the shirt made his eyes stand out even more than usual, and his hair, oh god his hair. Greg wanted to run his fingers through that hair, tug it to make Sherlock moan, pet it to make him sigh and- and- Greg had been staring for too long, hadn’t he.  

“Sherlock, hi! You look- you look great.” Greg said, letting his eyes run up and down the detective.

Sherlock’s cheeks coloured and he smiled slightly. Greg heard John huff a quite laugh next to him, earning him a cool look from Sherlock.

“I’ll be back later John.” he said briskly, slipping into his coat and grabbing his scarf, “Come along Greg.”

Throwing John one last smile, and receiving an encouraging one in turn, Greg headed down the stairs after Sherlock.

 

*********

 

Nalini’s was a cosy little Indian restaurant not too far from Greg’s flat and they were seated in a comfortable booth in the back. Sherlock seemed nervous, he kept fiddling with his silverware and taking tiny sips of water.

“Any interesting cases lately?” Greg asked, trying to get Sherlock talking to help him relax.

“Not since that cold case you gave me,” Sherlock said, twirling a fork around his fingers like a mini baton, “before that I was doing some work for Mycroft.”

“I thought you hated working for Mycroft?”

Sherlock set his fork down and began drumming his fingers on the table.  “I do, but this was to return the favour for the Moriarty video he used to bring me back.”

Greg nodded taking a sip of his drink. Sherlock’s forehead creased as he gave Greg a confused look. He opened his mouth to ask something else but, was interrupted when the waiter appeared to take their orders. Letting out a quite huff, Sherlock glared at the table until she left. He then regarded Greg seriously, his fingers steepled under his chin.

“You knew the video was fake?”

“Yes,” Greg took a gulp of his water, “Mycroft sent me a memo.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, “A memo?”

“Yeah, it just said that you were scheduled to go on an eight month mission and he created the video to prevent that. I guess the purpose of it was so I wouldn’t worry.” 

“Ah I see.” Sherlock’s hands moved to his lap, and he looked away, his forehead creased. He was clearly worried about something.

“Is everything okay Sherlock?” Greg asked. Clearly something about this had hit a nerve. “Is it something about the mission?”

Sherlock looked back at him and his expression cleared. Smiling slightly he said, “No, no it’s fine. Just Mycroft and his boring cases is all.”

Despite the smile Greg could tell something was troubling Sherlock. However he knew prying right now would be fruitless and spoil the mood of the date. He would defiantly ask Sherlock about it later though.

“So John has a date tonight huh?” he said trying to lighten the mood, as the waiter reappeared with their food. It smelled delicious and Greg couldn’t wait to dig in.

Sherlock hummed in acknowledgment and passed Greg the dish of tandoori lamb.

“Do you know who with?” Greg asked, spooning some onto plate. It wasn’t really his business, but he was so damn curious. Plus the change in topic had caused Sherlock to relax.

“No, he didn’t say,”

“Didn’t deduce it did you?” Greg said, giving him a wink.

“No, I was a bit- a bit distracted today.” Sherlock said, eyes firmly on his plate, his cheeks pink.

“Ah, I see.” Greg gave Sherlock a playful smile. The detective looked up and smiled in return, his eyes bright.

The rest of dinner passed smoothly after that. They past the time chatting about old cases they’d worked together, and Greg actually got a full blown laugh out of Sherlock when he told him about his younger brother’s latest escapade.

“So you had to use your badge to bail him out?” Sherlock said, snickering.

“Well yes, but I had to bail him out on the sly. Mum said let him stew in jail for the night you see, but I couldn’t do that! So out came my badge.”

Sherlock chuckled, a warm look in his eyes. He was relaxed now, no fork fiddling or water sipping. Greg was having a lot of fun himself and considered the date a smashing success.

When the bill came Sherlock insisted they spilt it. Greg rallied against him, insisting it was his treat to take Sherlock out. Sherlock huffed and wouldn’t take no for answer, claiming it was only fair their split it. Greg finally folded when Sherlock said Greg could pay for their next date. This made Greg’s heart sore. It meant there would _be_ another date.

In the car on the way back to Baker Street, Sherlock got quite again. He seemed pensive, the same way he was at the beginning of dinner. In the darkness of the car Greg felt brave enough to question him about it. He reached out and gave Sherlock’s knee a squeeze.

“Is there something bothering you Sherlock? Whatever it is you can tell me you know.”

Pulling his hand back, Greg decided to wait until they got to Baker Street to press the issue.

“Thank you for a lovely evening Lestrade. I’ll text you.” Sherlock said quickly, as soon as Greg had pulled up in front of the building, before he hopped out the car and hurried to his front door. Greg hurriedly put the car in park and jumped out.

“Sherlock wait!” he called.

Surprisingly Sherlock stopped, one hand on the door knob with his back to Greg. Greg hurried over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder, turning the detective to face him.

“Sherlock what’s wrong?”

The detective simply looked at him, a conflicted expression in his eyes.

“It’s about the mission isn’t it? What was Mycroft sending you to do?”

Sherlock let out a sigh, his breath visible in the cold air. He slowly reached up to where Greg’s hand was on his shoulder, and wrapped one hand around his wrist. Greg half expected his hand to be pulled off and began to loosen his hold. Instead Sherlock’s hand slid under his sleeve and tightened. The detective had forgotten his gloves and his fingers were cold against the skin of Greg’s wrist. Greg felt his heart pick up a little, the way it always did when Sherlock touched him.

“It wasn’t what he sent me to do that’s the problem.” Sherlock finally said, turning his gaze back to Greg.

Greg nodded, sliding his hand further long Sherlock’s shoulder and under his scarf to rest against his neck. He slowly rubbed his thumb against the smooth skin there, trying to relax his detective. Sherlock shivered slightly and tightened his hold on Greg’s wrist. He took a deep breath before continuing.

“It was an eight month mission, but not because it would take me eight months to complete. But because in eight months I would have been dead.” Sherlock said, his voice was flat. His eyes regarded Greg cautiously, worried about his reaction.

Greg felt his stomach drop. Out of all the things he had expected Sherlock to say, that hadn’t been one of them.

“What-what did you say?” he said, his voice soft with shock.

“Mycroft did the estimations.” Sherlock said, his eyes on his shoes, “Eight months at most, nine if I was lucky.”

Greg felt anger flood through his system, followed quickly knee weakening relief. Fuck Mycroft Holmes for putting Sherlock in that situation. Thank God for Mycroft Holmes for getting Sherlock out of that situation.

Greg was startled by the cool touch of a hand on his cheek. Sherlock was looking at him, concern written all over his face.

“Are you alright Greg?” he asked quietly, one hand resting gently on Greg’s face.

Greg could only nod before he pulled Sherlock into a hug. Sherlock chuckled softly and, after a moment, wrapped his own arms around Greg’s waist.

“I should tell you about my near death experiences more often if this is the reaction I’m going to get,” he said quietly in Greg’s ear.

Greg pulled back slightly so he could see Sherlock’s face. The detective was smiling slightly his eyes bright with laughter, his arms were warm around Greg’s waist. Greg’s own arms were around Sherlock’s neck, holding him close. It was time, Greg could feel it. The thought of how close he’d come to losing Sherlock, _again,_ left him feeling breathless. He had to do it, he had to show Sherlock how thankful he was that the detective was here, alive and well. So, with no Sally Donavon around to interrupt, Greg leaned in and kissed Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock’s lips were more supple than he thought they’d be and very cold, but Greg didn’t care, he couldn’t care, because he was finally kissing Sherlock. Sherlock went very still for a moment, before his entire body relaxed into the kiss, his arms tightening around Greg’s waist. The kiss stayed soft at first, just a gentle brush of lips on lips, before Sherlock’s tongue lightly slid over the seam of Greg’s lips. Greg opened his mouth for Sherlock with a happy sigh. The first touch of Sherlock’s tongue against his was electric. He moaned against Sherlock mouth, his hands sliding from the detective shoulders to curl around the lapels of his coat. He could feel the detective smile against his mouth as they kissed, their tongues curling together in a way that made Greg’s toes curl. The kiss wasn’t perfect by any means, it was a bit sloppy, but Greg could care less because it was Sherlock he was kissing, and nothing else mattered.

He angled his head a bit more to the right and deepened the kiss. Sherlock moaned against him, his hands sliding up Greg’s back to squeeze his biceps. Greg felt himself smiling against Sherlock’s mouth as the detective’s hands rubbed up and down his upper arms appreciatively.

“Having a little group are we?” Greg chuckled against Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock huffed and pulled back slightly, hands still kneading Greg’s arms, “Oh, please you love it.”

Greg chuckled again and gave Sherlock a light peck on the lips. Then, because he couldn’t help himself, a tiny peck on the nose. Sherlock blinked at him a moment, before he pulled Greg firmly against him and brought their lips together for another kiss, his tongue curling slowly and sinfully in Greg’s mouth. When he pulled away it took Greg a moment to open his eyes. Sherlock was smiling warmly at him, a smug smirk on his face.

He leaned in until his mouth was against Greg’s ear. “Until tomorrow Detective Inspector,” he whispered, giving Greg’s earlobe a quick little nip.

Greg felt his heart rate pick up _again_. Sherlock took a tiny step back from him, his eyes dancing with mischief. Greg darted forward and gave Sherlock a quick little peck on the cheek. “Until tomorrow Sherlock Holmes,” he whispered against the detective’s skin.

Sherlock gave him a warm smile, before he slipped through the door to his flat, closing it quietly behind him. Greg stood on the low step in front of the flat for a moment, his cheeks warm and a stupid smile on his face. As he turned to his car there was only one thought on his mind, “This was going to be fucking fantastic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just two quick notes: firstly I'm going on vacation for two weeks and I won't have my laptop. Therefore I won't be able to update, but when I return the fic will pick right back up, so no worries!
> 
> Secondly I'm loveinthemindpalace on tumblr, if you wan to come say hello! 
> 
> Please tell me what you think about this chapter! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said two weeks, but this was originally one half of a chapter. When I read it over I thought it could stand alone since it came to a natural stopping point. So here we are :)

Greg was drunk. Not just pleasantly the-world-is-a-little-fuzzy drunk, but drunk enough that the bar tender was giving him funny looks. After his wonderful date with Sherlock his week had gone to shit. This was due to a particularly nasty domestic abuse case that had come across his desk the very next day.

The case in question dealt with Sandra Parks, who had finally left her abusive husband and gone to stay with family. The husband however, didn’t take too kindly to coming home and finding his wife and all her belongings gone. He’d chased her down and kidnapped her as she left her sister’s house, and the frantic sister had called the police. He’d solved it, of course, and the woman in question was now safe with family. Greg had seen the pictures of her injuries though, and it made his stomach turn.

The case had cumulated today with Greg and his team tracking the man to a seedy apartment. They’d found the husband with his gun pressed against his sobbing wife’s head, screaming he’d blow her head off if they didn’t leave him with what was his. They’d tried to talk him down, but it was all in vain. When he’d gotten that look in his eyes that meant he was about to pull the trigger, Donovan had taken him down. All in all it had been a horrible mess and Greg was feeling down right _awful._

The icing on the cake was the fact that he hadn’t spoken to Sherlock, except for an odd text here and there, since their date. They’d made plans to go on a second date, plans that Greg had had to cancel because of overtime on the Park’s case. Sherlock had understood, if anyone could understand the importance of solving a case it was Sherlock Holmes, and he’d even texted Greg advice on the possible whereabouts of the husband. Greg still felt a bit guilty though. All his past relationships, including his marriage, had ended because of the work. The long hours and constant danger tended to put one’s partner on edge. Logically Greg knew Sherlock was different, since he was a man who lived for the work too. However, after far too many pints, this logic went straight out the window.

‘Yup, Sherlock’s going to leave me’, Greg’s sloshed mind thought. Sherlock would leave him and he’d be all alone again, with no company, no Sherlock. When the work load got to be too much Sherlock would leave and-

“Greg,” a familiar baritone said, laced with concern.

-and come find him a pub?

Greg slowly lifted his head from the surface of the bar, and turned to face Sherlock. The detective was seated next to him, and Greg must have been way drunker than he thought since he didn’t notice that.

 “I heard you solved the Parks’ case,” he said, giving Greg’s shoulder a squeeze.

Greg nodded morosely and took a swig from his beer. Sherlock stayed silent, he seemed at a loss with what to do. Greg turned to Sherlock and regarded him through heavy lidded eyes. The detective was staring right at him, eyes filled with concern and his lower lip caught between his teeth. Greg suddenly realised just how much he missed Sherlock this week, and he suddenly felt an aching need for contact. Unable to do much in his drunken state he simply leaned forward and let his forehead drop against Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock went still for a moment before he chuckled quietly and began carding his long fingers through the DI’s short hair. Greg sighed and nuzzled his face deeper into Sherlock’s scarf covered neck.

“Greg?” Sherlock said, stroking the back of Greg’s neck, “Is everything alright?” Greg shook his head, his hands tightening around his glass.

“Do you-um- do you want to talk about it?” Sherlock asked awkwardly.

As much as he wanted to, the thought of going through what had happened today made Greg’s drunk mind reel. Later he would tell Sherlock, he just couldn’t do it now. He was too drunk and too tired. Shit, he’d been silent for too long hadn’t he? He had to say some-

“Later then, if you wish.” Sherlock said quietly, pulling the thought straight out of Greg’s head, as he continued to stroke his fingers soothingly through Greg’s hair. Greg nodded against Sherlock’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for a while. Greg’s hands getting colder and colder from the glass, his face getting warmer and warmer pressed against Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock’s fingers gently petting him. They were probably attracting more than a few stares, and if Greg was sober it would have pissed him off. Why should people stare just because they were two men? In his drunken state however he could care less.

“Come back to the flat?” Sherlock whispered, his lips moving against Greg’s ear.

Greg nodded against Sherlock’s neck and remained exactly where he was. He felt Sherlock pull his glass out of his hands, unsure what to do with them Greg simply left them on the bar. He felt Sherlock shifting and the detective somehow managed to extract something from his coat without disrupting Greg. He heard the barkeep come over, some more shuffling, and then Sherlock was gently pushing him off his shoulder. Greg swayed in his seat, blinking at Sherlock. Without saying a word the detective pulled Greg off his stool and guided him to the door.

 The cold air outside helped clear his head a little, but Greg still had to lean heavily on Sherlock to avoid stumbling. The detective kept one strong arm around his waist as he tried to hail a cab in the cold London night, of course a cab instantly pulled up. Sherlock and his cab magic. Greg started giggling as he pictured Sherlock in a long black cape pulling a cab out of a top hat. The giggling turned into laughter as he pictured Sherlock, in top hat, tails and cape, sawing a cab in half in front of an astonished audience. Sherlock gave him an odd look as he bundled Greg into the cab.

“Are you alright Greg?” he asked, carefully.

Greg nodded, still giggling against Sherlock shoulder. “S’fine, just cab magic.”

He could practically _feel_ Sherlock’s bafflement, but the detective remained silent. Obviously he thought Greg was too far gone for conversation. Greg didn’t care. Sherlock was warm against his side, and that was all that mattered to him at this point.

Greg stumbled out of the cab when they got to Baker Street. Sherlock once again wrapped an arm around his waist and half guided, half dragged him, into the flat.

“JOHN WE’RE HOME!” Greg bellowed, once they were inside the living room, before he dissolved into a fit of giggles. Sherlock rolled his eyes and began dragging Greg toward his bedroom. They met John coming out of the bathroom. He looked at Greg and then turned to Sherlock with arched eyebrows.

“What happened to him?” John asked, rubbing a towel through his hair.

“He was trying to kill enough brain cells to forget a difficult case, I assume.” Sherlock said, shifting Greg’s weight to a more comfortable position. “So I’m taking him to bed.”

Greg raised his head and waggled his eyebrows at John, “I hope you have candles and rose petals, it has to be-has to be romantic you know,” he slurred, peering up at Sherlock.

Sherlock’s cheeks turned bright pink as John burst into laughter.

“That’s-that’s not what I-

“Have fun you two!” John said with a sly smile, “I have a date tonight, so feel free to be as loud as you want.” With one last wink at a giggling Greg and a bright red, sputtering Sherlock he slipped past them and into the kitchen.   

“Well, aren’t you going to take me to bed Sherlock?” Greg said, as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and nuzzled him playfully.

“Not in this state.” Sherlock grumbled, tugging Greg into his room.

Greg couldn’t think of an answer to that, so he hummed happily and clung to Sherlock. At least he tried to. Sherlock pushed him off gently and took him by the shoulders.

“I’m going to take you coat, shoes and jacket off and put you to bed. Is that okay?” he said, bending his knees to be eye level with Greg.

Greg nodded, smiling goofily as Sherlock tugged off his coat and suit jacket. Sherlock taking his clothes off would always be ok- wait Sherlock was going to put him to bed. Did that mean that he would leave after?

“Will you stay?” Greg asked quietly, as Sherlock gently pushed him to sit on the bed to remove his shoes.

“Huumm, what did you say?” Sherlock asked, as he kneeled down in front of Greg and pulled off his shoes.

“Umm- stay?” Greg said, scratching the back of his neck. He suddenly felt very shy.

Sherlock looked up at him, confused, “Of course I was going to stay,” he said, “Can’t leave you alone to get cold, now can I?” he said with a wink.

Greg smiled happily, and flopped back onto the bed. Sherlock was such an enigma, one minute he was blushing over a suggestive joke, and then the next he was making them himself. Greg loved him so much.

“I’m going to change,” Sherlock announced, before he flounced off to the bedroom.

Greg sighed and wiggled under the blankets trying to find a comfy spot. His head was still spinning. He reached down, unbuckled his belt and kicked his trousers off, tossing them over the side of the bed. Just then Sherlock returned, clad in his sleep ware. He looked at Greg’s discarded trousers and raised an eyebrow. “Getting comfy are we?” he said, smiling.

Greg grinned back, “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” Sherlock said, picking up Greg’s trousers and hanging them over the chair in his room.

“Come join me then.” Greg said, patting the bed beside him.

Sherlock smiled a little uncertainly and fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt.  “I will, but, based on your level of intoxication I don’t think it would be appropriate to- that is – I will join you but not-

Greg blinked at Sherlock, he was still too drunk to decode what it is he was trying to say. Sherlock looked up at him and huffed, squaring his shoulders, “I will join you in bed, but I don’t think we should engaged in any sexual activity since you’re heavily intoxicated,” he said in a rush.

Oh. _Oh._ That’s what he meant.

“S’fine by me.” Greg said snuggling down into the blanket. The pillow smelled like Sherlock, much to Greg’s delight. Sherlock looked relieved and got into bed next to him. He lay facing Greg, his hands curled against his chest. Greg wanted him closer, he wiggled forward until his head was pressed against Sherlock’s chest.

“Okay?”

Sherlock hummed in confirmation and ran his fingers through Greg’s hair, relaxing against Greg’s body. He pressed his cheek against the top of Greg’s head and wrapped his arms around him. Greg cuddled closer and pressed a chaste kiss against Sherlock’s neck. To his happiness he felt the detective press a kiss against the top of head.

“Good night Greg.”

“Night Sherlock.”

Greg knew he’d have hell to pay tomorrow, but right now he couldn’t care. He was warm and happy, with his favourite person curled around him. It couldn’t get much better than this. With a happy smile Greg shut his eyes, and let Sherlock’s breathing lull him to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who could John be dating? hhuumm ;)
> 
> Up next: the morning after, and sexy times ahead!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.  
> The story lives up to it's M-rating in this one, just a warning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the long wait for this, but I'm back from vacation now, so updates should be about once a week.

Greg woke up with this head throbbing, with a groan he rolled over onto his side and scrubbed a hand over his face. Only then did he realize that he was in a strange room. Then the memories of the night before came flooding back, how drunk he’d gotten, all the things he said…. Oh fuck, the things he said!

_‘I hope you have candles and rose petals, it has to be-has to be romantic you know’_ Oh god, had he really said that! He had, hadn’t he? Oh god. Embarrassment flooded though Greg’s system as he sat up, pressing a hand against his forehead as the change in position made his headache worse. He felt absolutely _awful_. 

Massaging his temples, Greg blurrily looked around the room. The curtains were shut, blocking out most of the light (thank god) and the space beside him was cold. With anyone else this would most likely mean it was morning, with Sherlock and his weird sleeping pattern it could mean anything. The clock on the bedside table solved that mystery soon enough. It was daytime alright, 11:07 to be exact. Thank God it was Saturday!

With a groan he swung his legs out of bed and jammed the heels of his hands into his eyes. God he felt like shit. He wanted to find Sherlock though, and apologise for his behaviour last night. With his mission in mind Greg staggered into Sherlock’s bathroom to try to put himself to rights as much as he could. Looking in the mirror Greg cringed at what he saw. His eyes were blood shot and every single wrinkle on his face seemed to be magnified. He was defiantly getting too old to be drinking as much as he did last night that was for certain.

Turning on the tap, Greg splashed his face with water, attempting to feel fresh. He took the bar of soap next to the sink and scrubbed his face clean.  The cold water against his face felt wonderful, so wonderful in fact that Greg stuck his entire head under the tap, letting his hair get soaked. It may have looked stupid, but it helped his headache a bit. He straightened up and grabbed a towel to dry his hair as best as he could. Water had soaked into the shoulders of his shirt, but Greg could honesty care less. His mouth still tasted like death though. Grabbing the toothpaste from the counter he squired some onto his finger and swabbed it around his mouth.  Well that was best he could do for now. Looking in the mirror again things didn’t look as bad as it had before, at least his face was clean. Using his hands, he attempted to straighten his hair, but it was a lost cause, his hair stuck up in damp spikes that jutted away from his head at random intervals. Ah well, that was all he could do for now.

Greg trudged back into Sherlock’s room and grabbed his trousers from the chair. After yanking them on, he went in search of his consulting detective.

He didn’t have to look far. As soon as he opened the bedroom door he saw Sherlock sitting at the kitchen table, bent over his microscope. He trudged toward Sherlock, hoping there was coffee in the kitchen and that Sherlock wouldn’t be disgusted by his behaviour yesterday.

“Morning Sherlock,” Greg said.

“Morning Greg. Feeling better?” Sherlock replied, not looking up from his microscope.

“I feel like shit actually.” Greg said as he spotted the coffee maker on the counter, half full of coffee.

“The coffee’s fresh,” Sherlock said, reading Greg’s mind.

Greg filled a cup as he formulated what he wanted to say.

“Listen Sherlock,” Greg said, leaning against the counter, “About last night, I just wanted to apologize.”

Sherlock’s head came up from behind the microscope and he gave Greg a puzzled expression. “Apologize?  What for?”

Greg scratched the back of his neck with one hand, the other clutching his coffee cup. “Well, for being a drunk mess yesterday, and for the embarrassing things I said.” God this was humiliating.

Sherlock turned on his stool to face him fully, his hands resting on his thighs. “You have nothing to be sorry for Greg. You had a hard case and needed some stress relief, granted, getting drunk at a bar probably isn’t the best method of stress relief but as former drug addict who am I to judge.”

Greg blinked at Sherlock for a moment, before he took a fortifying drink of coffee. “I guess you’re right. I’m definitely getting too old to get that sloshed. And thank you for coming to get me and letting me stay the night. It was a lot more enjoyable than being home alone.”

Sherlock smiled then, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Greg grinned back, feeling warmth spread through his chest. Sherlock’s smile did things to him damn it, hangover or no hangover. Sherlock’s smile suddenly turned shy, his eyes dropping to his lap, his curls falling forward and shielding half of his face from view. The light streaming through the window caught in Sherlock’s hair, highlighting the rich brown it was and making the edges glow.

Greg felt his stomach swoop. He took one last gulp of his coffee and strode toward the detective. He cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and tipped the detective’s face upward so he could see his eyes. In the morning light they were a beautiful clear silver, filled with warmth and just a bit of shyness. Feeling his heart expand Greg leaned forward and kissed him, just a soft sweet press of lips on lips. Pulling back an inch Greg whispered, “Thank you.”

Sherlock blinked up at him for a moment, before his hand slid up to the back of Greg’s neck, and pulled him down into another kiss. Greg let out a pleased hum as Sherlock’s tongue slid between his lips. He draped his arms around the detective’s neck and slotted himself between the V of Sherlock’s legs, pushing himself closer to Sherlock’s warm body. The movement caused their groins to press together and Greg groaned at the contact. Sherlock let out a pleased hum against his lips and spread his legs wider, hooking his feet around Greg’s calves. Greg gasped against Sherlock’s mouth, his cock was beginning to fill out in his pants, and from what he could feel Sherlock was in a similar situation.

Sherlock pulled back suddenly, his gaze burning into Greg’s, before his lips moved to Greg’s throat. Greg gave a low whine as Sherlock’s hand fisted in his hair and pulled his head back, baring more of his neck for Sherlock’s lips. Greg had a very _very_ sensitive neck. Sherlock’s tongue quickly found all of Greg’s sweet spot’s and began attacking them mercilessly. His tongue delicately flicked against the skin behind Greg’s ear, before drawing the lobe between his teeth and sucking gently. Greg let out a whimper that turned into a high pitch whine as Sherlock’s teeth grazed down his neck. Sherlock chuckled quietly as he kissed Greg’s shoulder through his shirt.

Two could play at his game.

Greg pressed his lips firmly to Sherlock’s once again, their tongues sliding together in a slow, filthy kiss. He dropped his arms from Sherlock’s neck to his waist and hauled the detective to his feet. Sherlock let out a surprised sound against Greg’s mouth, but went with the movement. Despite what people thought, Greg wasn’t much shorter than Sherlock, so he was at the perfect height to kiss him standing up. Smiling Greg pressed butterfly kisses down the long, white column of Sherlock’s neck, enjoying the way the detective trembled against him. Ducking down he kissed one of Sherlock’s nipples delicately through his t-shirt drawing a moan out of the detective. Deciding to up the ante Greg opened his mouth against Sherlock’s chest and sucked once, before flicking his tongue over the hardening nub. Sherlock’s fingers dug into Greg’s shoulders and breathy whimpers escaped his lips.

Pulling back Greg shoved Sherlock’s t-shirt up, exposing his chest, before turning his attention to the neglected nipple and giving it the same treatment. His hand traced over Sherlock’s stomach before rubbing firmly over the other nub and giving it a pinch. Sherlock gasped and clung to Greg tighter as Greg’s tongue began tracing slow, sensual circles around his areola.

“G-Greg please- I-

Greg smirked against Sherlock’s chest at how absolutely _wrecked_ he sounded. He wrapped one arm around the detective’s waist, holding him steady as he pulled back and blew a stream of air over the area he’d just licked. At the same time he flexed his forearm against the detective’s waist, remembering how much Sherlock loved it when he did that. The affect was astounding. Sherlock arched in Greg’s arms and let out the most pornographic moan he’d ever heard. He tugged desperately on Greg’s shoulders, pulling him upright and into a deep kiss, his hands cupping Greg’s cheeks. Greg found himself being walked backward and pressed against the refrigerator with every inch of Sherlock’s body pressed firmly against him.

“You evil, evil tease.” The detective growled between kisses, “Do that again, that- that thing with your arms- do-

Greg moved his hands from where they’d been tangled in Sherlock’s hair and slid his arms around the detective’s waist, before flexing as best as he could his current state. Sherlock let out a sound that could only be described as a growl, before he attacked Greg’s mouth again and did _something_ with his tongue that made Greg’s knees wobble. Sherlock’s hands slid down and clutched at Greg’s arse, grinding their cocks together and causing stars to explode across Greg’s vision.

“Sherlock, yes, yes, _yes_ ” Greg panted against Sherlock’s mouth as he thrust against him. Even through two layers of clothes each slide of their cocks felt like heaven. Sherlock’s hold tightened as he pressed Greg firmly against the fridge. The cold against Greg’s back was a heady contrast against the warmth of Sherlock’s body, and his hands, god those gorgeous, huge hands groped and squeezed his arse, spreading his cheeks slightly as they ground against each other.

Greg pushed his hands between their bodies and tugged at Sherlock’s nipples, causing the younger man to moan against his lips. Tearing his mouth away from Greg’s, Sherlock’s lips descended to his throat and sucked a love bite into the side of Greg’s neck. Greg shivered, they hadn’t been at it long but he could feel his orgasm building as they fronted against each other, and god it felt good. Sherlock’s lips dragged down the side of Greg’s neck, before he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin where Greg’s neck met his shoulder and sucked hard. Greg cried out and tipped his head back, his hands gripping Sherlock’s shoulders in a valiant attempt to stay upright. One of Sherlock’s hands began carding trough Greg’s hair in a soothing gesture as his lips travelled across Greg’s neck, leaving nipping kisses in their wake.

Greg was so, _so_ close. His cock was hot and heavy against Sherlock’s and he just needed a bit more to push him over the edge. Sherlock gave it to him. One of his hands slid from Greg’s arse to his the bulge in the front to his trousers and began squeezing. His teeth sank into the side of Greg’s neck, leaving a new love bite to match the other one he’d made.

One more perfect squeeze and Greg was there, his body feeling as if it was in free fall as his orgasm washed over him. Tossing his head back, Greg let out a garbled cry of Sherlock’s name as the pleasure shot through him. He was probably leaving bruises on Sherlock’s shoulders as he hung on for dear life, but it was bliss, pure and total bliss.

When it was over Greg slumped weakly against the fridge. God that had been incredible, but it wasn’t over yet, as Sherlock was still thrusting against him. Greg grabbed him firmly by the hips and shifted Sherlock slightly to the right, so he was grinding against his thigh. He tensed the muscle and rocked his leg upward into Sherlock’s thrusts. The detective moaned and his head dropped to rest against Greg’s shoulder, murmuring a litany of Greg’s name against his neck. Greg shoved his hands under Sherlock’s shirt and thumbed his nipples, swirling gentle circles over the sensitive nubs.

Sherlock cried out brokenly, his head falling back in pleasure, “Greg more please, I need-

His hand curled around Greg’s neck, tugging downward. Greg could understand the message well enough. He shoved Sherlock’s shirt up again, and began kissing his way down the detective’s chest. The closer he got to his nipples the breathier Sherlock’s moans became. When he got to his prize Greg let his lips hover over the nub, blowing a gust of hot air over it. Sherlock whimpered, his hand tugging at Greg’s hair, the movement of his hips becoming frantic.

“Come on Greg, I’m so close-just-

Greg licked slowly over Sherlock’s nipple, lightly flicking it with his tongue over and over until Sherlock was writhing in his arms. Finally, he bit down sharply and sucked. Sherlock cried out and went still against Greg’s thigh as he came, the warm of his release seeping through his pyjama bottoms. Greg kept up the motions of his tongue and thigh all the way through until Sherlock was shivering with over sensitivity. He gave Sherlock nipples one last, tender kiss each, causing the detective to jerk against him before he straightened up and pecked him lightly on the lips.

Sherlock was a mess, his eyes were glazed with pleasure, his lips swollen with kisses and his chest heaving. As Greg watched a slow, stated smile spread over Sherlock’s face and he leaned in to give Greg a slow kiss. Sherlock hummed contentedly against his mouth and wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist, holding him close. Greg slumped back against the fridge. The cold was becoming a bit uncomfortable now, but he wasn’t ready to let Sherlock go just yet.

“That was fucking fantastic.” Greg said, his arms draped around Sherlock’s neck.

“Mmm, it certainly was,” Sherlock replied, giving Greg’s waist a squeeze.

“Shall we go lay down for a bit?” Greg said, hoping for a nap before round two.Thank god it was Saturday.

“Knees aching already old man?” Sherlock asked with a smirk, resting his forehead against Greg’s.

Greg scowled, though there was no real malice behind it, before he lightly nipped Sherlock’s bottom lip in retaliation. Sherlock simply chuckled before pulling Greg away from the fridge.

“Come on then, let’s go,” he said as he took Greg’s hand and pulled him toward the bedroom.

To Greg’s surprise Sherlock led him to the bathroom instead of the bedroom. He stuck his arm into the shower and turned it on.

“Clean up and I’ll find you something to wear.” Sherlock said, before turning on his heel and heading into his bedroom.

As he pulled off his day old trousers and soiled pants Greg a bit disappointed Sherlock hadn’t joined him. Well there would always be next time. A smile spread over his face as he got into the shower, he could now actually count on having a shower with Sherlock.  A month ago that was something he would only dream of, now here he was.

Tipping his head back under the spray, Greg marvelled at what had taken place. He and Sherlock had had sex. They hadn’t even gotten undressed and up against the fridge wasn’t the ideal place, but to Greg it was defiantly sex and it had been fucking amazing. Next time Greg would be sure they made it to a bed. He wanted to see what Sherlock looked like spread out over his sheets and just how deep that pale skin could flush. He quickly scrubbed himself clean before his thoughts could get away from him and hopped out. The shower plus the sex made him feel loads better.

 Just then the door opened a crack and Sherlock’s long arm snaked through, holding out a pair of pyjama bottoms and underwear.

“Thanks Sherlock.” Greg said, taking the clothes from his hand, shaking the thoughts of a panting, naked Sherlock out of his head. So much for containing his thoughts!

The pyjamas were a bit close at the waist and a little too long at the leg, but Greg could care less. The pants were comfy and that was all that mattered. His shirt on the other hand, was disgusting, with a sigh Greg unbuttoned it and pulled it off. He gathered up his clothes, folded them and left them on Sherlock’s bed, before going in search of Sherlock once again.

The detective was exactly where he’d been before, crouched over his microscope. His pyjama pants were different, but besides that nothing else had changed.

He walked up to the detective and gave his shoulder a squeeze. Sherlock gave a hum of acknowledgment, without looking up he snaked one hand around Greg’s and squeezed, before pressing a kiss to his palm.

“There’re leftovers in the fridge.” He said, turning his attention back to his microscope. Greg grinned and kissed the top of Sherlock’s head. When he opened the fridge the first thing he noticed was a bloody bag in the vegetable crisper. Remembering John’s horror stories about body parts in the fridge he didn’t investigate the bag further, and instead turned his attention to the Styrofoam containers on the second shelf.

Heated leftovers in hand, Greg headed toward the living room, “Mind if I watch telly?”

“Not at-

Sherlock’s sentence trailed off as his eyes landed on Greg, or more specifically Greg’s bare chest. His cheeks tinted ever so slightly, as his eyes wondered down Greg’s torso and back up. Greg felt a grin split his face and his cheeks warm, it was nice to be admired.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped back to Greg’s face and he cleared his throat. “Do what you like I’m quite busy at the moment,” he said in an imperious tone, turning back to the microscope. The bright red of his cheeks killed the effect somewhat.

Still grinning, Greg settled into the sofa and began flipping through the channels for something to watch. He felt so comfortable here, and he could tell Sherlock didn’t mind him staying. A warm feeling settled in the pit of Greg’s stomach that had nothing to do with the food he was eating.

*********

With his stomach full and hangover well on its way out, Greg felt content, he stretched his arms and relaxed against the couch. Just then Sherlock let out a triumphant sound from the kitchen. A few moments later the detective appeared, looking very pleased with himself. He strutted over to his laptop and began typing.

“I’ve done it Greg,” he crowed, fingers flying over the keys, “All that’s left is to inform the relevant parties.”

“And what have you done exactly?” Greg said fondly.

“Counterfeiting case. One of the numbers in serial number was off by a millimetre.” Sherlock tutted, “Sloppy work.”

“Counterfeiting? That sounds pretty serious for a private client.”

“It was from Mycroft actually.” Sherlock said grudgingly, “But it wasn’t as dull as his usual cases.”

With a final click on his laptop, Sherlock stood up with a self-satisfied smile. He turned to Greg and his smile widened as he took in the shirtless detective inspector sprawled on the couch.

Greg saw Sherlock’s eyes darken as the detective sauntered over to him. To his surprise Sherlock dropped himself into Greg’s lap and ran his hands up Greg’s chest. Smiling Greg looped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and tipped his head up for a kiss. Sherlock complied, his mouth slotting against Greg’s.

Things quickly became heated. Greg soon found himself on his back with Sherlock on top of him, the two of them kissing and kissing. Unlike last time, there was nothing rushed about this encounter. Their lips glided together slowly and sensually. Sherlock’s hands traced along Greg’s arms, while Greg’s hands squeezed and cupped Sherlock’s arse. Greg slowly moved his hands upward, flirting with hem of Sherlock’s t-shirt, before sliding his hands underneath.

At least, he tried to.

 As soon as Greg’s hands touched the skin of Sherlock’s lower back the detective froze against him. His hands came around to grip Greg’s and move them back to his arse.

Greg could tell something was off. “Everything alright?” he asked, pulling back slightly.

“Everything’s fine,” Sherlock said, “I just prefer your hands here is all.” He gave Greg’s hands a squeeze where they rested over his arse, before giving him a deep kiss.

Greg still felt as if something was off. Sherlock had been perfectly fine with Greg touching his chest, it was his back-

Sherlock chose this moment to begin kissing down Greg’s throat, causing his thoughts to derail. He ran his tongue over a love bite he’d left earlier, before nibbling on it. Greg groaned and tipped his head back, wrapping his legs around Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock’s hands wandered over Greg’s chest, mapping the new terrain.

Through the haze of slowly building arousal Greg was distantly aware of footsteps on the stairs. Just then the door burst open. Sherlock shot up off of Greg so fast it was comical. Unfortunately he overestimated just how long the couch was and toppled over the arm, limbs flailing, before he fell to the floor with a thud.

Greg shot upright himself and turned from a furiously blushing consulting detective to a very shocked John Watson standing in the doorway.

John blinked at them for a moment, before a slow, shit eating grin spread across his face. “I take it everything went well last night, eh Sherlock?”

Sherlock got to feet and primly straightened his t-shirt. His face was flame red, Greg’s own face felt warmer than usual. No matter how close he and John were, being walked in on was still embarrassing. John wasn’t at fault of course, the man had just been returning to his own flat.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped to John. The pink in his cheeks fading slightly as he went into deduction mode. “And I see your date went well too, since you’re still wearing last night’s clothes,” his eyes narrowed, “In fact I bet I can tell who your secret paramour is.”

Greg’s head turned from Sherlock to John. He felt as if he were watching tennis, though with Sherlock’s last statement he could tell things had a strong chance of going sour.

“Sherlock...” he said warningly.

“Let’s see then.” The detective said, one hand curled under his chin, a finger stroking his plush lower lip. John stared back at him defiantly, all the amusement form earlier had drained out of his face.

“I would stop now if I were you.” John said, “There’re some things that aren’t your business.”

“You made Greg and I your business. Why shouldn’t this be mine?”

“Sherlock, come on, stop it.” Greg said, getting to his feet. Clearly this was bothering John, and he could see why. Who would want to come home the morning after and then have themselves deduced?

“Oh come now Greg,” Sherlock said jovially, his eyes flicking over John, “what, or who, could John have done that would be that…

His voice trailed off in shock, eyes wide. John’s expression was still murderous, but there was a sardonic twist to his mouth. “Deduced it then, have you?” John said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Sherlock’s eyes hardened and without a word he strode off through the kitchen. A few moments later, they heard his bedroom door slam.

Greg turned to John, stunned. What the hell had just happened? Obviously Sherlock had deduced who John was seeing, but why was Sherlock so upset? There was only one person Greg could think of who would elicit such a reaction, but no, it couldn’t be them…..could it?

“John-

“I’m sorry about that Greg, really,” John’s tone was carefully controlled, but his eyes still blazed with anger. “If you’ll excuse me.”

With that he stormed up the stairs to his room, leaving a very stunned Greg alone in the living room of 221B.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun DUN!  
>  Who could this mysterious person be? Why is Sherlock so upset? What will Greg do? Find out next time on After All This Time! :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out. Greg and Sherlock go on another date.

Greg’s thoughts raged as he knocked on Sherlock’s door. ‘John Watson was dating….he had to be mistaken, hadn’t he?’

That was…unexpected to say the least. He knocked again, and as he expected he got no response. He sighed and knocked again. “Sherlock? It’s just me out here. Can I come in?”

With an annoyed sigh Greg opened the door. Sherlock was lying face down on his bed, arms spread wide on either side of him. Greg rolled his eyes, surely Sherlock didn’t have to be this dramatic.

“Do you really think the fact that your bother and John are dating needs this much drama?” he said dryly.

Sherlock shot upright. “It’s my brother, Greg! It’s _Mycroft_!” Sherlock said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. His brows furrowed in confusion, “Wait, how’d you figure it out?”

Greg folded his arms. Sherlock really was being a child about this. “Yes, it is your brother, who’s a grown man and can date who he wants. As for figuring it out,” here Greg tried his best Sherlock impression, “It was obvious wasn’t it?”

Sherlock scowled at him, before flopping onto his back, “It’s my brother and John, Greg,” he groaned, “ _My_ _brother_ and John.”

Greg sighed again and crossed the room to sit next to the detective. “Well, it’s your own fault you know, if you hadn’t deduced John, _like he asked you to_ , you would still be blissfully unaware.”

Sherlock just glared at him, before draping one arm dramatically over his eyes. “Besides,” Greg continued undeterred, “Is Mycroft and John dating really that bad? I mean John’s a good man, and Mycroft…well…. Mycroft means well.”

Sherlock huffed a laugh, his eyes still hidden by his arm.

“Come on Sherlock,” Greg took the detective’s knee and shook it playfully, “Mycroft’s a good man too, you know it and I know it. Is it really that bad?”

“But Mycroft’s _everywhere_ now Greg. It was bad enough before when he just had me under surveillance, but now he has John.”

“Do you really think John would spy on you for Mycroft? You know John. He’ll tell Mycroft he’s not one of his lackeys and to fuck off. Besides,” Greg continued, “I don’t think John and Mycroft spend their time talking about you.”

Sherlock dropped his hand away from his eyes and glared at him, “I’m a thing they have a common.”

“We have your brother in common. Do we spend much time talking about him?”

Sherlock huffed again. He had an expression on his face Greg had only seen a few times despite their long acquaintance. It was the expression that meant Sherlock knew he was wrong, but was loath to admit it. He slid his hand over Greg’s where it rested on his knee.

“You have a point, I suppose,” he said, his eyes on their hands.

Greg grinned, “Yes I do. Now I think you should apologize to John.”

“Apologize!” Sherlock’s eyes snapped up to Greg’s, wide with disbelief, “What for? I merely made a deduction.”

Greg stared back at him, feeling exasperated, “Deducing someone the night after a date is rude, and it upset John. If he really is your best friend then you should apologize.”

Sherlock huffed again. After a moment of Greg staring at Sherlock and Sherlock staring into the distance, Sherlock got off the bed and disappeared through the bedroom door. Greg stared after him in confusion before he followed.

He found John seated in his chair in the living room, reading the newspaper. Or rather using the newspaper as a shield from Sherlock.  Sherlock was seated across from him, perched on the edge of his chair. His hands were twitching nervously where they rested on his thighs, and he was staring at John as if he wanted to burn a hole through the paper.

“Morning Greg.” John said brightly, giving Greg a smile before he turned back to the paper.

“John,” Sherlock said hesitantly.

John turned a page.

“John, I’m-I’m sorry.”

John’s head came up in shock, his brow furrowed. Sherlock’s eyes flicked to Greg, who nodded encouragingly, before they snapped back to John.

“Yes, I’m sorry I deduced your night, and stormed off. It was….rude.” Despite the hesitance of the words, there sincerity was undeniable. Despite all Sherlock’s posturing, Greg knew Sherlock cared for John and wanted to do right by him.

“And I’m sorry for over-reacting. You can oblivious date who you want and if, for whatever reason though I suspect a head injury, you chose Mycroft…well then….have at it ….”

Greg rolled his eyes. John however lowered his paper slowly, a small baffled smile on his face. Sherlock kept staring at him, his posture tense.

“Thanks Sherlock,” he said, his smile growing, “really, thanks. That means a lot.” Sherlock smiled back, his body relaxing against the chair. “Thank you too Greg,” John continued, smiling at Greg.

There everyone was all smiles, problem solved.

“So,” Greg said slyly, flopping onto the couch and rubbing his hands together, “when should we double date?”

John and Sherlock whipped around to face him, twin expressions of horror on their faces.

“It’s too soon!”

“Dinner with _Mycroft_!”

Greg curled his arms around his stomach as his laughter echoed around 221b.

 

***********

 

Monday morning found Greg seated behind his desk, grumbling over a report. Just as he was contemplating getting another coffee his phone buzzed. It was Sherlock.

 

_We’ve just been on one date –SH_

Greg felt his brow furrow. It was true, they had just been on one date. It didn’t feel like such a short time though. Maybe because he and Sherlock had known each other for over a decade, and had been dancing around their mutual attraction for who knows how long.

 

**Well, 2 dates of you count lunch on Saturday.**

****

Greg kept one eye on his phone and the other on his report as he waited to see what Sherlock would say. A few moments later he got his answer.

 

_I was under the impression a date required planning in advance- SH_

Greg smiled at his phone. He could tell what Sherlock was getting at.

 

**Yeah, I guess they do.**

The pause was longer this time. Greg leaned back in his chair, the report pushed to the wayside for the moment. A few minutes later, just when he was about to restart work, his phone buzzed again.

 

_Would you like to go on a date? SH_

Greg grinned at his phone. He could imagine the annoyed expression on Sherlock’s face for making him ask the obvious.

 

**Of course : ) anywhere in mind?**

****

_Really, emoticons Greg? Angelo’s tomorrow at 8? You’re least busy on a Tuesday._

Huh. Greg thought back to the past few weeks. Were Tuesday’s really his slowest? He have to keep an eye on that to see if it was true. Though if Sherlock said so most likely it was.

 

**Angelo’s at 8 it is! :) :) :)**

***********

 

Greg peered out the window as the cab pulled up to Anglo’s the next night. It was a small, slightly shabby building, and Greg felt his curiosity grow. He opened the door to a small, quaint restaurant, an apparently empty restaurant. The light inside was dim, the room only illumined by the loads of candles placed on the empty tables throughout the restaurant. The atmosphere was decided romantic.

Greg looked around the room, taking in the candles and Italian décor. He spotted the shadowy figure of Sherlock in one corner, staring intensely at Greg as he looked around.

“Hello Greg.”

Sherlock stood from his seat at a corner booth, dressed in another sleek suit. The candle light threw the contours of his face into sharp relief. That, paired with the intense way he was staring at Greg, made him look dark and dangerous. Greg felt a twinge of arousal deep in his belly. Sherlock looked like he would eat him up…not that Greg would mind.

Sherlock slid out from behind the table and beckoned to Greg, “Care to join me?” Greg shook the thoughts of Sherlock as a vampire from his head and went over to join him.

He let Greg slide in first, effectively trapping him between the wall the Sherlock. That only heightened the intimacy of the setting in Greg’s mind, and made the twinge in his stomach return. He waited for Sherlock to speak but the detective simply stared at him.

“It’s pretty quiet for a Tuesday night,” Greg commented, in an attempt to break the silence, as he looked around the deserted restaurant. 

“Angelo’s an old friend of mine,” Sherlock said, looking away from Greg, “He closed the restaurant tonight so we could have some privacy.”

Greg gaped at him, “You had the entire restaurant cleared just for us.”

Sherlock hummed in confirmation. He turned back to Greg and draped one arm along the back of the booth, his gaze intent on Greg’s face. The candle light did beautiful things to his eyes and Greg found himself leaning into the detective. Sherlock apparently had the same idea. His other hand came up to cup Greg’s cheek, pulling him into a slow kiss.

Greg kissed back, his hands sliding up Sherlock’s chest to cradle the back of his head. He twirled his fingers through the detective’s curls, enjoying how soft and silky they were. Sherlock’s mouth opened against his own, his tongue licking along the seam of Greg’s lips, seeking entry. Greg moaned softly in response and opened his mouth, his grip on Sherlock’s hair tightening. Sherlock made a sound deep in the back of his throat that made Greg shiver, and brought the vampire imagery back to the forefront of his mind. The detective wrapped his arms around Greg’s waist and pulled him firmly against his body as he licked his way into Greg’s mouth.  

Greg moaned at the feel of Sherlock’s warm, hard body against his own. Giving Sherlock’s biceps a squeeze, he tried to deepen the kiss. Sherlock was having none of that though, keeping one arm firmly around Greg’s waist he slid the other up the length of his spine to grip the back of his neck, giving him total control of the pace of their kissing. Sherlock, of course intended to use his power for evil, as he kissed his way to Greg’s ear and began to tease the skin behind it with the tip of his tongue. Just as Greg was contemplating the easiest way to climb onto Sherlock’s lap, a loud voice rang out from the kitchen.

“IS HE HERE YET?” Both Sherlock and Greg jumped a mile, as a portly, friendly looking man bustled out from the kitchen, a bottle of wine in his hand. 

Greg pulled away from Sherlock, the way they were pressed against each other wasn’t appropriate around people. Sherlock huffed in annoyance at the interruption as he let Greg go.

“Greg, Angelo. Angelo, Greg,” he said, waving a hand between the two men.

Angelo gave Greg a large grin. “So this is the one I’ve been hearing about!” he said excitedly, as he poured red wine into their glasses. “It’s good to finally meet you!”

Greg grinned back, “Good to meet you too Angelo.”

Angelo handed them two menus, “Anything you want on the house, as usual Sherlock,” he said jovially, “this man got me off a murder charge, you know. I owe him my life I do.”

Sherlock smiled tightly, his eyes glued to the menu. It was hard to tell in the low light, but his cheeks looked pinker than usual. Angelo didn’t appear to notice, “I’ll leave you two alone to decide,” he said with a wink.

As soon as he was gone, Greg turned to face Sherlock, “So you talk about me do you?” he said playfully. Sherlock stared intently at the menu, “The chicken pasta is delicious,” he said, ignoring Greg’s question.

Greg grinned and decided to let him be, turning his eyes to his own menu. As he contemplated the choices he felt Sherlock’s hand steal onto his thigh. A glance at the detective showed he was still staring at the menu, as if he was totally unaware of his hand caressing Greg’s leg.

“Having a good little grope are we?” he said. Sherlock merely smirked, his eyes not moving from their spot as he gave Greg’s thigh a particularly nice squeeze.

 

 

In the end, Greg did order the chicken pasta. Sherlock had linguine and meatballs. After chatting for a bit about the work, Greg decided to bring up the ‘big-bad’.

“So, how have things been with Mycroft since you found out?”

Sherlock’s lips twisted slightly around his mouthful of food. Swallowing he said, “He actually hasn’t spoken to me since the last case I solved for him.”

“Really? Not even to call and brag about being able to keep a secret from you?”

Sherlock chuckled and took a sip of his wine, “I think John’s been the cause of that actually. Mycroft can’t resist a bragging opportunity usually.”

 

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of conversation, delicious food and wandering hands. Well, mostly Sherlock’s wandering hands. The detective seemed more forward than usual today and Greg loved it. Finally after a wonderful evening they bid Angelo goodnight and stepped into the cold London night.

“Would you like to come back to mine?” Greg asked, only feeling a little nervous, as Sherlock hailed a cab.

Sherlock turned to him as a cab pulled up, a sinful smirk on his face, “Where did you think we were going?” Greg’s stomach flipped in anticipation as he smiled back.

As soon as the cab was on the move Sherlock hauled Greg toward him by his lapels and gave him a deep kiss. Before Greg could properly kiss back Sherlock tore his mouth away and pressed a hard kiss to Greg’s cheek. “Just wait until I get you home Detective Inspector,” Sherlock growled in his ear

With a nip to his earlobe Sherlock released Greg and slid back into his seat in the cab. Greg stayed frozen in shock in the middle of his seat, still twisted to face Sherlock. Smirking the detective pulled Greg to sit firmly pressed against his side. They were quite for a while, when Greg felt Sherlock’s fingers moving against his hip. Before he knew it, Sherlock’s leather covered fingers had found their way under his coat and shirt to stroke against the skin just above his hip.

Greg squirmed against Sherlock’s side as the cold leather teased him. There was something terribly erotic about the leather against his skin, and it was driving him wild. To make things worse, when he tried to retaliate by groping Sherlock in return, the detective grabbed his hand and held it prisoner in his own.

“Patience Greg,” Sherlock rumbled, his lips dragging against the skin of Greg’s neck, “we’re nearly there.”

“You’re a bloody great tease, you know that?”

Sherlock merely chuckled and held Greg tighter.

 

************

 

They fell through the door of Greg’s flat, kissing and kissing. Greg kicked the door shut with a bang and pushed Sherlock against it, his hands fumbling to pull off Sherlock’s scarf and coat. Sherlock had better luck with Greg’s clothes, in no time Greg’s coat and shirt were gone, and Sherlock’s warm hands were sliding over his skin.

Finally Greg managed to get Sherlock’s coat and suit jacket off. He slid his hands under Sherlock’s shirt and up his chest, thumbing his nipples and making the detective gasp. His head dropped back against the door with a thud, his cheeks flushed, panting softly. Greg had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Bedroom?” Sherlock panted, pulling his mouth away from Greg’s. Greg nodded, and dove back in for another kiss. Sherlock smiled against his mouth, before he pulled away and leading Greg to the bedroom.

Once inside Sherlock walked straight over to Greg’s bed and sat down, pulling Greg onto his lap. Greg ended up straddling Sherlock, his knees on either side of the detective’s thighs. Sherlock hands slid along Greg’s back, as his lips trailed down Greg’s throat to his chest.

“Perfect.” Sherlock growled against his skin as Greg arched in his arms.

As much as Greg was enjoying himself he wanted to see more of Sherlock. He pressed their lips together once again and began unbuttoning his shirt. When he tried to push the shirt off Sherlock’s shoulders the detective froze. Suddenly Greg remembered, Sherlock had reacted the same way when Greg had tried to touch his back before. Pulling away slightly, he slid his hands to Sherlock’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze before sliding his hands into the detective’s hair.

“Is everything alright Sherlock?” he asked, his fingers carding through Sherlock’s curls. The detective stared up at him, his eyes wide and lips kiss swollen.

“What?” he asked, voice slightly dazed.

“Well, you always freeze up if I try to touch your-

“It’s nothing,” Sherlock cut him off his eyes hardening slightly, “now kiss me again,” he said, leaning up for a kiss.

Greg kissed him, his mind preoccupied with this latest development. He wasn’t going to press the issue though. If Sherlock didn’t want to be touched somewhere, then he wouldn’t touch him there, end of story. Just he was getting back into the kissing, Sherlock’s hands slid to his chest, pushing Greg off.

“You’re think about it aren’t you?” he accused, his eyes narrowed.

Greg blinked at him a moment as his brain caught up to the change of mood.

“Well- I” Greg stumbled over his words, Sherlock eyes narrowed and the DI sighed, “Yeah, I was wondering why you tense up when I try to touch your back,” he said, his hands fiddling with the collar of Sherlock’s shirt. He’d really ruined the mood, hadn’t he?

Sherlock’s mouth opened, but Greg continued before he could interrupt. “But, if you don’t want me to touch you there it’s fine of course.”

Sherlock regarded him silently for a moment, before he pushed Greg off his lap and stood up. Greg felt his stomach drop into his feet. Was Sherlock really going to leave? Greg’s question answered itself when instead of walking out the door, Sherlock simply stood and stretched, before turning back to Greg. He folded his hands elegantly behind his back, though the effect was lessened by the fact that his shirt was still open.

“It’s not as serious as you think,” he said softly, “I- well you see- I have scars on my back from my time dismantling Moriarty’s web. People feel uncomfortable when they see them, much less touch them so, you see now why I don’t like them touched.”

“Scars? What kind of scars?”

Sherlock sighed and slid his shirt off his shoulders, before turning around. Greg gasped. Long red lines criss-crossed Sherlock’s back from his hips to his shoulders. Some of the lines looked shiny, while others were raised, creating a lattice work of pain over Sherlock’s skin. Before Greg knew it he was on his feet, one arm extend and his finger trailing over a particularly painful looking scar. As soon as his fingers made contact with Sherlock’s skin the detective flinched. Greg immediately pulled his hand back and spun Sherlock around to face him again.

“How-how did that happen?”

Sherlock’s studied Greg a moment before his eyes dropped to where his shirt was clutched in his hands. “It happened just before Mycroft pulled me out of Siberia. There was a man there who was particularly fond of the whip.”

“You were _tortured_?” Greg asked in horror.

“You could call it that, yes.” Sherlock said, his voice soft, his eyes still glued to the shirt in his hands.

Greg cupped Sherlock’s face in his hand and tilted it up to meet the detective’s eyes. “Sherlock I’m so sorry, I had no idea.”

“It’s fine. How could you have known?” his eyes were tight, and very wary. Seeing that expression on his face just broke Greg’ heart. Greg slowly pulled Sherlock into a hug, careful to keep his hands off his back.

“You can touch them if you like.” Sherlock said, his voice muffled by Greg’s shirt.

“But you don’t like it when I do.”

Sherlock was silent. His hands slowly came up and curled around Greg’s waist.  “I like feeling your skin against mine,” he whispered against Greg’s neck.

“Me too,” Greg whispered back, “but we can still have that without me touching your back.”

Sherlock nodded gently against Greg’s shoulder, “For now I think that would be best.”

Greg hummed in reply and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s curls.

They stayed like that for a while, just pressed together, Greg’s petting Sherlock’s hair and Sherlock’s fingers tracing patterns on Greg’s back.

“Would you like to lay down on the bed?” Greg asked after a moment.  Sherlock nodded and flopped onto Greg’s bed on his back. He pulled Greg down next him and against his chest. Greg chuckled, curling an arm around Sherlock’s belly and finding a more comfy spot for his head on Sherlock’s chest. Despite the mood being broken, Greg was still having a good time. Sherlock smelt wonderful and his skin was nice and warm against Greg’s. Sherlock’s fingers traced patterns on the skin of Greg’s arm, occasionally carding through his hair. 

“I’ve broken the mood completely, haven’t I?” Sherlock said suddenly, his voice quite. Greg chuckled and kissed the underside of Sherlock’s jaw.

“Moods can be salvaged,” he said, voice low.

Sherlock was quite for a moment, suddenly his arms tightened around Greg’s body and he flipped them over, pinning Greg beneath him. Before Greg could utter a word Sherlock grabbed his wrists and pinned them next to his head.

“It can be salvaged, can it?” he purred, dipping down to lick a stripe up Greg’s neck. Greg shivered in Sherlock’s hold, as the detective kissed his way down his neck. Sherlock swooped up and gave him a deep kiss. When he pulled away Greg followed Sherlock’s lips, trying to continue their kiss.

“I asked you a question Greg.” Sherlock said, smirking down at him, his hands giving Greg’s wrists a squeeze.

“What?” Greg panted, wiggling in Sherlock’s hold, not that he actually wanted to get free, being held down by Sherlock was incredible arousing.

Sherlock gave his neck a sharp bite, causing Greg to arch against him and grind his groin against Sherlock’s. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’ then.” The detective chuckled, as he began kissing down Greg’s chest. His tongue swirled around one nipple on his way down. Greg squeezed his eyes shut and let out a ragged moan as Sherlock began mouthing over his cock though his trousers. Sherlock released his wrists and used his hands to pin his hips to the bed, his mouth doing wicked things to Greg.

Just as Greg was about to beg for more Sherlock unzipped his trousers and pulled them and his pants down. Greg grabbed Sherlock under the arms and hauled him up for a kiss. Sherlock’s slacks provided delicious friction against his cock, but Greg wanted skin. Hands fumbling between their bodies, Greg managed to get Sherlock’s trousers down enough to expose his cock and Sherlock kicked them the rest of the way off.

They moaned in unison as their cocks touched for the first time. Sherlock was hard and hot against him. Greg clutched at Sherlock’s hips and thrust firmly against him, gasping in pleasure. Sherlock was braced on his forearms above Greg, his curls hanging down and tickling Greg forehead. Greg tipped his head up for a kiss and Sherlock obliged, dipping and down and sliding his tongue between Greg’s lips. As they kissed Greg moved one hand from Sherlock’s hip, wrapped it around their cocks and squeezed.

Greg watched the pleasure on Sherlock’s face in wonder. The detective’s eyes were clenched shut, an adorable wrinkle appearing above his nose. His mouth was open in pleasure, soft little moans escaping when Greg’s thumb swiped over the head of his cock.

Sparks of pleasure zipped along Greg’s nerves with every thrust. Placing his feet flat in the bed he began rocking harder against Sherlock.

“Ah! Greg, oh god!” Sherlock cried out, arms shaking as he struggled to hold himself up above Greg.

Releasing their cocks, Greg rolled over dumping Sherlock onto his back below him. He took a moment to enjoy the look of shock on Sherlock’s face before he took one of the detective’s nipples into his mouth. Sherlock whimpered, his body arching up below Greg. Flicking the nub with his tongue, Greg wrapped his hand around their cocks again. A few more sharp thrusts and Sherlock was there, gasping and shaking below Greg as he came.

The two of them lay panting for a moment. Greg was still achingly hard. He reached for his cock, intending to finish himself off but Sherlock intervened. Rolling them onto their sides, he pulled Greg up for a kiss, and wrapped one large hand around his prick, fisting it slowly. Sherlock’s other hand slid between the cheeks of Greg’s arse, grazing over his hole. Greg buried his face in Sherlock’s neck, his breathing ragged.

“One day,” Sherlock growled in Greg’s ear, “I’m going to spread you out below me and fuck you just like this, nice and slow. Would you like that Greg?”

Greg moaned against Sherlock’s neck and thrust his hips forward, trying to get Sherlock to speed up the motions of his hand. The detective ignored him, his hand working Greg slowly. His other hand lightly brushed over Greg’s arsehole over and over, driving him wild. Greg gasped as Sherlock’s hand twisted on the down stroke. He moaned as Sherlock’s thumb slid over his glands on the upstroke. All the while Sherlock kept the same slow pace.

 Time seemed to slow, Sherlock whispered soothing nonsense into Greg’s ear as he slowly took him apart. Greg felt his orgasm build, slow and steady like the pull of undertow. Greg shook against Sherlock as he came, his vision whiting out with pleasure. Tiny, broken moans left Greg’s mouth as it went on and on, Sherlock working him all the way through. Finally his body went slack on the bed.

‘Holy fucking shit that had been amazing.’ Greg thought in a daze.

Sherlock kissed Greg’s forehead gently, causing Greg to look up at him in shock. Sherlock being gentle still came as a bit of a surprise. The detective simply smiled and kissed Greg on the lips. Greg kissed back slowly, he felt rung out in the best possible way.

“That was incredible Sherlock,” he said, his hands curled against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock’s arms squeezed Greg’s waist.

“It was, wasn’t it” Greg could hear the grin in Sherlock’s voice. He leaned in and stole another kiss. Sherlock kissed back, slow and sweet.

In this moment, with Sherlock calm, stated and close, the words were on the tip of Greg’s tongue. It was just three little words. Greg knew he was lying to himself, they were more than just three little words, and he couldn’t say them, not yet. He was still afraid that it was too soon, and he’d scare Sherlock off. Deciding to keep it to himself for now, Greg curled around Sherlock and let himself enjoy the warmth of his body. There would be time to say it later, he was sure of it.

 

* * *

My [tumblr](http://loveinthemindpalace.tumblr.com/)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do think? :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Sherlock have their first fight. Mycroft sticks his nose where it doesn't belong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter jumps ahead in time a little. At this point in the story Greg and Sherlock have been seeing each other for three weeks.

Greg sat in the restaurant Sherlock had chosen for their dinner date. It was fancier than Greg was used to and very nice. The tables where covered with fine linin and the silverware was actual silver. There was crystal and candles everywhere and a woman in a well cut suit sat quietly playing a grand piano in the centre of the room. When Greg had heard where they were going he’d put more effort than usual into his appearance. He was wearing one of his nicer suits and the silk tie his sister had given him for his last birthday. Greg thought he looked pretty damn good, and he felt good to. At least he had.

His confidence had faded when it was twenty minutes past the time he and Sherlock were supposed to meet, and the detective had yet to show up. He’d tried to call at the fifteen minute mark, but Sherlock’s phone had gone straight to voice mail.  

Now Greg sat alone at the table Sherlock had reserved, as the waiter approached for the fifth time since he’d sat down. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a glass of wine while you wait for your date sir?” he said, eyeing Greg with poorly disguised pity.

Greg glanced at his watch again. Sherlock was now half-an-hour late. He felt a thread of worry pass through him. Suppose something had happened to Sherlock while he was out on a case?

“I’ll give him ten more minutes.” He told the waiter, smiling as best as he could. When the waiter walked away, Greg pulled his phone out of his pocket and tried Sherlock’s mobile again. Once again it went directly to voice mail. Sighing Greg dialled John’s number. He usually felt bad about calling John to check up on Sherlock, but he was worried. Something had to be wrong, Sherlock wouldn’t just forget him.

“Hey Greg.” John answered.

“Hey John, sorry to bother you, but is Sherlock alright?” Usually Greg would go through the usual pleasantries, but he was too worried.

“Yeah, he’s fine. He’s here in the kitchen working on an experiment.”

Greg fell silent. Sherlock had forgotten him. A feeling of dead filled his stomach at the memories that brought back.

“Greg, is everything alright?” John asked when Greg had been silent too long.

“Oh yes, everything’s fine John. Thanks. I’ll talk to you later yeah?” he hung up before John could answer.

Greg left the restaurant in a haze. Anger and sadness warred for dominance in his head, as he trudged down the pavement. He’d put so much effort into his appearance and had been so excited for tonight, whereas Sherlock had gotten so involved in an experiment he’d forgotten all about Greg. A bloody _experiment._

Yeah sure they’d being dating for three weeks, and they’d been on a several more dates or just hung out at one another’s flats after work, but Greg still felt excited when they went out together. He’d thought Sherlock felt the same way, but know he doubted it. How excited could he be if he forgot?

 Greg felt his shoulders slump. Feeling like a stupid, old fool he made his way home.

 

***********

 

John sat on the couch in 221b and stared at his phone in bewilderment. That had been the weirdest conversation he’d had with Greg.

“Hey Sherlock,” he called going into the kitchen where the detective was seated behind his microscope. “Is everything alright with Greg?” Sherlock looked up at the mention of Greg’s name.

“It’s just that he’d called a moment ago and- hey! Where’re you going?” John cried as Sherlock leaped off his stool and darted for his coat and scarf, his eyes wide with panic.

“Sherlock!” he called, as his friend darted out the door of 221b, slamming it behind him.

 

************

 

Greg sat on his couch, beer in hand, feeling sorry for himself. Sherlock had forgotten about him. The last time Greg had been stood up was by his ex-wife when their marriage had been on its last leg. She’d forgotten about him too.

What made the situation worse is that Sherlock had been the one to plan the entire date. He’d picked the restaurant, made the reservations and even advised Greg how to dress for it. After to all of that to just forget made Greg wonder just how much he mattered to Sherlock.

Just then there was a knock on the door of Greg’s flat. Looking through the peephole he felt shocked to see a very nervous looking Sherlock on the other side. Anger coursing through him, Greg yanked open the door.

“The experiment got boring, did it?” Greg asked.

Sherlock winced, “Greg, I-

“Was it for a life or death situation?”

Sherlock stared at his shoes, hands firmly clasped behind his back.

“Was it urgent? Sherlock, answer me.” Greg’s voice was quite, though he could feel the anger building inside him.

“It was for a cold case. Nothing urgent.” Sherlock said, his voice small. Greg felt the dam inside him break.

“Do you have any idea how it felt to just sit there waiting for you, only to realise you’d forgotten all about me!” Greg said angrily. One of his hands gripped the door frame, while the other held on to the door. Blocking Sherlock’s way into the flat. “Do you know how horrible that was?”

“Greg, I’m sorry, please let me explain.” Sherlock said desperately, looking at him with wide eyes. Greg wanted to say no, but he should at least hear Sherlock out.

“Alright, explain.” He said, voice flat as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

“Can I come in? Please?”

Greg huffed, and shoved off the door frame, trudging back into his flat. Sherlock followed, closing the door quietly behind him. In the living room, he dropped into an armchair. Sherlock stood in the centre of the room, body tense, staring at him.

“Well, explain then.” Greg said, arms crossed tightly.

Sherlock took a deep breath and began, “Greg, I’m sorry. I was conducting an experiment and I lost track of time and- and I’m sorry.”

“That’s it?” Greg said drily, “You mean to tell me that you planned this entire date only to forget about it over some bloody experiment? That’s the explanation?”

Sherlock nodded, his eyes tight. Greg sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, “Jesus, Sherlock do you have any idea how humiliating that was? To just sit there waiting like an idiot because my boyfriend was to busy fiddling with his _fucking chemistry set_?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, “Listen Greg, I don’t know what else to say. I apologized and I honestly have no other excuse to give you. I forgot yes, now what?” Sherlock was beginning to sound angry himself.

Greg’s jaw clenched. Sherlock had nothing to be angry about. “Now listen here Sherlock-

“Just because your wife stood you up repeatedly toward the end of your marriage so she could have sexual relations with other men, resulting in you feeling insecure in situations like these, doesn’t mean you can take out your frustrations on me.”

Time seemed to stop. Greg felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. “Get out,” he growled around the lump in his throat. Sherlock’s eyes widened at the tone of Greg’s voice.

“Greg I-

“Sherlock Holmes, get out of my flat.”

“No wait! Greg-

Greg strode past him and yanked open the door open, glaring at Sherlock. Shoulders hunched the detective slumped out the door.

“That came out wrong, I’m sor-

Greg shut the door on Sherlock’s pleading expression.

 

************

 

Monday morning dawned grey and rainy, which reflected Greg’s mood perfectly. He hadn’t spoken to Sherlock since their fight Saturday. The detective had texted him and tried to call, but Greg was ignoring him. What Sherlock had said still stung.

When Greg opened his door to get to work he stopped in shock. Sitting on his door step was a vase of lush red roses. Greg stared at them in bewilderment for a moment before picking them up. Despite how awful Greg felt, his sprits rose a tiny bit when he saw the card amongst the flowers. It simply said Sorry, but Sherlock was making an effort. Huffing to himself, Greg picked the flowers up and placed them on his coffee table. He’d never gotten flowers before.

 

At lunch time the same day Greg had just started eating a sandwich from the vending machine, when Donovan knocked on his door and stuck her head in.

“Delivery for you sir,” she said smiling. Greg gave her a puzzled look as she came fully into the office, holding a plastic bag. Still looking amused Donovan placed the bag on his desk. It was take away from Greg’s favourite Chinese restaurant. A small white card taped to the front of the bag. When Greg opened it he saw the words _‘I’m so very sorry Greg_ ’, written in Sherlock’s spikey hand writing. Greg felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth, Sherlock really was trying to make it up to him. They’d still have to talk it through though.

“Is he succeeding?” Donovan asked, pulling Greg from his thoughts. He looked up at her, blushing. Sally nodded toward the bag, “For what he did. Is he making up for it?”

“How’d do you know he did something?”

Sally gave him an exasperated look. Greg sighed, “Yeah he is.”

“Good.”

With one last grin Sally left. Greg tucked into his food, it really was delicious. As he ate he debated whether or not he should text Sherlock his thanks. He felt ready to talk to Sherlock again, the Sunday they hadn’t spoken had given Greg time to cool off and think through what he wanted to say. Decision made, he picked up his phone.

 

**Thank you for the food and the flowers.**

Less than a minute later his phone buzzed

 

_I’m glad you liked them –SH_

Greg swallowed his last bite of food. Time to get down to business.

 

**We should meet to talk.**

_Yes we should. When would you like to meet? –SH_

Greg thought about it. Nowhere public, in case they fought again and not Greg’s flat in case he wanted to leave.

 

**Your place, tonight?**

_Alright. After you get of work?-SH_

Before Greg could reply, another text came through.

 

_Greg I’m sorry. –SH_

 

Greg couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for Sherlock, but he couldn’t forgive him until they’d spoken.

 

**I know, see you tonight.**

**********

 

That night Greg nervously made his way up the stairs of 221b. When he was half way up Sherlock appeared in the doorway, looking very nervous. “Hello Greg,” he said, the hesitance in his voice made Greg’s heart twist a little.

“Hey Sherlock,” he said, giving the detective a small smile. ‘At least he didn’t forget about you this time’ a nasty little voice whispered in the back of Greg’s mind. Greg ignored it, he and Sherlock would talk about that soon enough.

“I got take away,” the detective said, whirling away from Greg and into the flat, “It’s from that place we went the first time, Nalini’s. I thought since you liked the food so much it would be ok. If you want something else we could get that, I’m sure John wouldn’t mind eating this, he loves Indian food and-

Jesus Christ, Sherlock was babbling. Sherlock Holmes, the man who made every word count, was babbling. He looked so very uncertain and nervous that Greg took pity on him.

“Sherlock that food’s fine, really. Don’t worry.” Greg cut in, “How about we talk first and eat after, yeah?”

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. He strode into the living room and sat stiffly in his chair. Greg sat in John’s chair opposite him. The two of them stared at each other, although Greg had planned what he wanted to say, now that he was in front of Sherlock he found he didn’t know where to begin.

“Greg, I’m sorry,” Sherlock began, ending the awkward silence between them, “I’m sorry I forgot about the date and while, I can’t promise I won’t get lost in my work again, I do promise to try my hardest to prevent that from happening.”

Greg digested what Sherlock said for a moment. It was a very honest answer and he could tell Sherlock was being sincere. That wasn’t the only problem though.

“I understand you get wrapped up in your work, but this can’t happen again, unless it’s for a life or death situation. If you do think you’ll forget a date you should put a reminder on your phone or something.”

Sherlock nodded, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“I mean, it felt awful Sherlock, the fact that you forgot. It felt like I didn’t matter.” Greg said, his voice getting quitter and quitter as he spoke.

“I hate that I made you feel that way and I’m sorry I caused it.” Sherlock said, his eyes sad and intent upon Greg’s, “You do matter to me Greg,” he swallowed, “very much.”

Greg nodded, and swallowed himself. They still weren’t finished.

“That’s not the only thing though,” Greg continued, scratching the back of his neck, “what you said to me, about my ex standing me up, that was….well it was hurtful, very hurtful.”

Sherlock’s eyes dropped from where they’d been riveted to Greg’s face down to his lap. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Now, what you said is true. Monica began standing me up a lot towards the end, but that doesn’t mean you can use it against me in a fight.”

Sherlock’s head snapped up, “That’s not why I said what I said. I said it because…well…” his voice trailed off as he realised what he was going to say would be a bit not good.

Greg sighed, “You said it because you think that’s why I got so upset? Because of my past experiences with Monica?”

Sherlock nodded, his expression wary, as if he expected Greg to snap.

“Sherlock, anyone who gets stood up would be upset, no matter what their past experiences are.” Greg said calmly, “So imagine your date forgetting about you, and then on top of that saying that you’re upset not because of what happened, but because of how messed up your past relationship left you.”

Greg hoped Sherlock would understand. He didn’t think his explanation was the greatest but, it was the best way he could express what he felt.

Sherlock swallowed, “I didn’t see it in that light, I’m sorry,” he said, eyes fixed on where his hands were twisting together in his lap.

Greg sat back in his chair, “I forgive you.”

Sherlock looked up at him, shocked. “You do?”

“Yes, I mean you apologized and were sincere about it and we cleared up the misunderstanding. So I forgive you.” Greg said, giving Sherlock a warm smile.

Sherlock smiled back, still looking a bit uncertain. He licked his lips as he regarded Greg, “Can I kiss you?”

Greg grinned at him, and lifted one hand off the arm of the chair to beckon the detective toward him, “Of course you can.”

Sherlock smiled at him. A real smile, that made his eyes crinkle and his face light up. The detective slid into his lap and gave him a slow, sweet kiss. Greg kissed back, his hands cupping Sherlock’s hips. Greg sighed happily against Sherlock’s mouth.

“Don’t you forget me again Sherlock Holmes,” he murmured against the detective’s lips.

“Never” Sherlock breathed, his mouth warm against Greg’s.

“I see you’ve fixed everything then, brother dear.”

Greg ripped his mouth away from Sherlock’s, startled. Mycroft stood in the doorway of the flat, umbrella in hand, smiling smugly at the two of them. Greg felt his face heat up. Here was Mycroft Holmes, the British government himself, staring at his little brother straddling Greg’s lap. Sherlock’s hands tightened on his shoulders.

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” he spat at Mycroft.

“As it happens, I have a date as well,” Mycroft said, sitting primly on the couch. Sherlock climbed off Greg’s lap and shouted for John.

“There, I called you date for you. Now if, you’ll excuse Greg and I,” he said snidely, grabbing Greg’s hand and pulling him to his feet. Mycroft gave his brother a glare, before turning to Greg.

“I’m so glad you worked it out with Sherlock, Detective Inspector,” Mycroft continued, ignoring Sherlock, “He can be quite empty headed when it comes to matters such as these.”

Greg’s jaw dropped.

 “Piss off Mycroft!” Sherlock snapped, attempting to drag Greg away. Greg resisted, British Government or not, Mycroft had crossed a line.

“Sherlock’s not empty headed at all, in any aspect of our relationship,” he said as calmly as possible, squeezing Sherlock’s hand for support, “And if you can say something that cruel about your own brother, then it’s you who’s empty headed about relationships, not him.”

As Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, John entered the room. “What’s all this then?” he said, looking between Mycroft scowling on the couch and Greg glaring back at him.

“I was just congratulating Greg and Sherlock on mending fences is all.” Mycroft said smoothly, standing and buttoning his jacket.

“Is that what that was?” Greg said, his voice drenched in sarcasm.

“Come on John, we should be going.” Mycroft said hastily, putting a hand on John’s shoulder to guide him out of the flat.

John looked at Mycroft suspiciously, “We’ll talk later then Greg, ok?” he said, giving Greg a significant look. “And we’ll talk in the car,” he said to Mycroft, in a tone that meant Mycroft would have some explaining to do.

“Of course John, have fun,” Greg replied, glad to see Mycroft sweat under John’s gaze. Let the smug bastard see how ‘mending fences’ went.

Greg’s shoulders relaxed as the door shut behind the two of them.

“Wow, that was- Sherlock?” he said, as the detective pulled his hand out of Greg’s and stalked into the kitchen.

“Sherlock, is everything ok?” he said, following him.

“Everything’s fine,” the detective said, voice tight. He pulled two plates out of the cupboard and slammed them onto the table with more force than necessary. Without looking at Greg, he began yanking cartons of food out of the take away bags, anger evident in every movement.

“Sherlock…” Greg said, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder as Sherlock rattled around in the cutlery draw. With an angry sigh, Sherlock banged the draw shut and slammed his hands onto the counter top.

“Mycroft is such a….” he growled, the lines of his back and arms stiff with anger.

“I know. What he said was awful, but it’s not true. You’re great in this relationship. Really, you are.”

“It’s not that,” Sherlock mumbled, turning to face Greg, his hands still planted on the counter behind him.

“What is it then?” Greg asked, sliding his arms around Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock sighed and dropped his head back in evident frustration. He was silent for so long, Greg thought he wouldn’t answer.

“Can’t I have one part of my life that doesn’t involve Mycroft?” he said softly, addressing the ceiling.

Greg cuddled closer to Sherlock, “I know he stuck his nose in tonight, but he hasn’t meddled in our relationship before.”

“Oh really? Then how did he know we were arguing? And he emails you for updates about me, doesn’t he?”

Greg pulled back slightly so he could see Sherlock’s face. The detective’s head was tipped toward the ceiling, putting Greg level with the long column of Sherlock’s neck.

“Sherlock, look at me, will you?” he said quietly, giving the neck in front of him a quick nuzzle before pulling back.

Sherlock slowly turned his head away from the ceiling, his eyes filled with frustration.

“In the past Mycroft has emailed me about you when you help the yard with cases involving drugs, and that’s understandable. When I replied to those emails I never divulged more than I had too. I would simply tell him that the yard would keep you safe, and not to worry. The only other time he’s emailed me is to tell me the Moriarty video was a fake. As for how he found out about the fight, maybe John mentioned it, I don’t know. The point is, our relationship is ours. Mycroft has no part in it.”

Sherlock tipped Greg’s head up to see his eyes. He stared at Greg for a long moment, assessing. Whatever he saw in Greg’s face must have satisfied him as he huffed and wound his arms around Greg’s waist, pulling him against his chest. Greg pressed a quick kiss to the side of Sherlock’s neck.

“It’s just so frustrating,” the detective said, his cheek pressed against the top of Greg’s neck.

“Have you tried talking to Mycroft about this?”

Sherlock let out an ugly bark of laughter, “Oh please Greg, as if he’d actually listen.”

“But have you tired?” Greg said, giving Sherlock’s waist a squeeze to emphasize the last word.

Greg heard Sherlock sigh above him, before he felt the detective’s chin dig into the top of his head. “He’ll just write it off as his little brother throwing a tantrum.”

“What if I helped you?”

Sherlock looked down at him, expression incredulous. “You’d do that? You’d help me deal with _Mycroft?_ ”

He said Mycroft the same way someone else would say bubonic plague.

It was Greg’s turn to give Sherlock an incredulous look. Did Sherlock really not know that Greg would do anything for him?  “Of course I would! Sherlock, I’d do- I’d help you as much as I can.”

Sherlock simply looked at him, his eyes intense and brow slightly furrowed. Without saying a word he leaned down and pressed a long kiss to Greg’s forehead. The gesture was so heartfelt, that Greg’s eyes fluttered shut with the intensity of the feeling.

“What have I done to deserve you Detective Inspector?” he murmured against Greg’s skin. Greg smiled, eyes still shut. The love he felt for the detective welled up inside of him. He was just seriously contemplating telling Sherlock when his stomach growled loudly, shattering the mood. The detective chuckled warmly as Greg’s face heat up. He couldn’t say it now!

“Perhaps we should eat?” Sherlock said, still chuckling lightly.

Greg grimaced and nodded against Sherlock’s chest. “So, we’ll talk to Mycroft?” he asked, trying to smother his disappointment. The strained relationship between the Holmes men couldn’t continue if it made Sherlock upset as he had been.

Sherlock sighed, his fingers playing with the short hair at the nape of Greg’s neck, “Yes, we will.”

“Good. I really think it would help Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded and gave Greg one last squeeze before stepping around him to get the food. “So dinner then?” he said cheerfully. Greg stepped up next to him and grabbed a plate. A plate he promptly dropped when Sherlock squeezed his arse.

“And after dinner,” the detective hissed in his ear, “after dinner I’ll show you just how grateful I am that you forgave me."


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place the same night as chapter 7, after Sherlock and Greg ate and watched some crap t.v.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex ahead!

Greg crashed through Sherlock’s bedroom door with six feet of consulting detective wrapped around him. Sherlock’s hands fumbled all over his body, trying to undress Greg and feel him up at the same time. Greg groaned and tipped his head back as Sherlock’s lips and teeth did wonderful things to his neck.

“Sherlock,” he mumbled. Sherlock hummed against his neck and kept sucking. “Sherlock, maybe-m-maybe things would go- _ah!_ Go smoother if w-we could get undressed.”

Sherlock pulled back and smashed his mouth against Greg’s, his large hands holding Greg’s head in place. “The things, I’m going to do to you Detective Inspector,” he growled. Greg’s knees wobbled, and his hold on Sherlock’s shoulders tightened to keep himself upright. Sherlock chuckled darkly against Greg’s mouth, before his hands slid down Greg’s sides and grabbed his arse. He spun Greg around and pushed him onto the bed. Greg landed with a thump, his legs spread and eyes wide. Sherlock strode forward, a predator stalking it’s pray. Greg swallowed and crawled backward on the bed till his head hit the pillows.

Sherlock crawled on top of him, a wicked smile on his lips. He gave Greg a deep kiss, his tongue sliding between his lips. Greg moaned against Sherlock’s mouth and kissed back, his hands curling around the detective’s hips. Sherlock ground against him, and Greg’s hands gripped his arse, encouraging a smoother rhythm.

“I want you Greg,” Sherlock panted against his mouth, before connecting their lips again. “I’ve never, but I want to- with you-I”

Greg froze. Was Sherlock saying what he thought he was saying? He gave Sherlock one last kiss before pulling back slightly. “You’ve never?”

Sherlock sat back, straddling Greg, his hands on Greg’s chest for support. He looked gorgeous, his lips red and wet, his cheeks pink with arousal. “No, I’ve never had penetrative sex, I’ve done other things but not that.”

The two of them stared at each other for a moment. “It’s not a problem is it?” Sherlock asked, his voice nonchalant, though his eyes told a different story.

“Of course not!” Greg said, shocked, before he pulled Sherlock down for a kiss, “I’m just surprised that’s all,” he mumbled against Sherlock’s lips. The detective pulled back, eyes narrowed.

“Why is that surprising?” his vice was cool, but his eyes were wary. Why would he be so- oh. Oh! 

“It’s not because of your age, you silly man! It’s because I’m surprised a gorgeous, brilliant thing like you hasn’t designed to take one of us lesser mortals to bed.” Greg said, giving Sherlock a sly smile. Sherlock smirked back, his body relaxing as he straddled Greg.

 “Well it’s not like I haven’t gotten offers,” he scoffed playfully, “I just never wanted any of those lesser mortals.” His eyes bored into Greg’s, his gaze heated, “Until now.” The last two words were a deep purr that went straight to Greg’s cock.

“Well aren’t I a lucky, lucky man,” Greg growled his eyes raking over Sherlock’s body, as his hands squeezed the detective’s arse.

“Yes, yes you are.” Sherlock purred, rolling his hips in a slow circle against Greg’s crotch, causing them both to groan.

“Do you want this Sherlock?” Greg asked, though the answer was blinding obvious. Sherlock looked at him and opened his mouth, no doubt to give a snarky reply, when Greg thrust his hips up suddenly, dragging the detective against him. Sherlock gasped and nodded, his curls tumbling around his face.

“Good.”

Greg’s hands tightened on Sherlock’s waist as he rolled them over, pinning Sherlock beneath him. The detective looked up at him, eyes wide with excitement and a touch of nervousness. Greg kissed him deeply, relishing in the way Sherlock’s arms curled around his shoulders.

“Do you have what we’ll need? Lube, condoms?”

Sherlock nodded, and tipped his head toward the bedside table. Greg smiled and kissed him again, before he sat back and surveyed the detective sprawled out beneath him. Sherlock was panting hard, his cheeks flushed and his cock creating a very obvious tent in his trousers. Greg licked his lips before he leaned down and kissed his way down Sherlock’s neck.

“You’re a very sexy man Sherlock Holmes,” he whispered, his lips dragging against Sherlock’s skin, “and I’m going to see to it that you enjoy every. Single. Minute. Of this.”

Sherlock whimpered softly above him, his hands tangling in Greg’s hair. Greg gave his neck one last kiss, before he sat back and ran one hand down Sherlock’s shirt covered chest. He slowly unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt, baring smooth, pale skin. When he finished he didn’t push the shirt open, oh no, instead he dragged the tip of his tongue up the narrow bit of exposed flesh. Sherlock’s back arched, and he moaned, his hands tightening in Greg’s hair. Greg grinned against Sherlock’s clavicle, teasing the skin below his lips with teeth. He pressed a slow, filthy kiss to Sherlock’s lips, his thumbs rubbing the detective’s nipples through the soft material of his shirt. Sherlock moaned loudly against his mouth.

Greg grinned, and continued his assault. Breaking the kiss, he attacked Sherlock’s nipples with his tongue, sucking hard at one nub through the fabric of the shirt. Sherlock cried out above him, his entire body jerking and arching up towards Greg’s mouth, his legs curling around Greg’s waist.

“Greg- Greg, oh god.” Sherlock gasped. Greg grinned, he _loved_ how sensitive Sherlock’s nipples were. Still smiling he moved on to the other nipple. By the time Greg pulled back Sherlock had two damp spots on the front of his shirt and he was whimpering softly, his eyes dark with lust. Greg slowly pealed Sherlock’s shirt all the way open, revealing two peeked, damp nipples just begging for his attention.

 Greg obliged.

He lightly blew over one nipple, eyes flicking up to see Sherlock’s reaction. The detective’s eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, panting breaths leaving his mouth. Greg lightly traced a nub with the tip of his tongue enjoying the pleading moan it caused. Kissing his way across Sherlock’s chest he gave the other nipple the same treatment, just light flicks of tongue and a hint of teeth.

“Greg! More please I-

Greg bared his teeth and bit down on the nipple in his mouth, causing Sherlock to shout and thrust hard against him.

“Better darling?” he growled, before going back to biting and sucking hard at the nub in his mouth. Sherlock’s hands were suddenly tugging at his shoulders, pulling Greg up for a deep kiss.

 “No more, I might-

Sherlock’s words were cut off with a moan as Greg ground their hips together.

“Think you can come from just that?” he rumbled, continuing to thrust his hips, “think you can just come from me teasing and biting those sensitive little nubs of yours?”

Sherlock shook hard against him, “I- I think…but I don’t want to,” he panted, “I want you.”

Greg let out a moan of his own at how absolutely wrecked Sherlock sounded, and dipped his head down to kiss Sherlock again. Sherlock’s hands slid to the front of Greg’s shirt, working open the buttons.

“Too many clothes,” the detective grumbled, yanking Greg’s shirt off his shoulders. Greg couldn’t agree more. Giving Sherlock one last kiss he hopped off the bed and tore his trousers off. Sherlock’s hands slid to his own trousers to do the same. Greg gently caught one of wrists, stopping him.

“I’d like to do that, if you don’t mind.”

Sherlock blushed and left his trousers where they were. He eyed Greg’s pants, “I think those should come off, don’t you?” he said, smiling coyly at Greg, his cheeks still pink.

Grinning, Greg slowly slid his pants down his legs. Sherlock’s eyes raked up and down Greg’s body, before his eyes focused on Greg’s cock. Greg let Sherlock ogle for a moment before he climbed back on top of the detective.

“Your turn now I think,” he said, smiling and carding his hands through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock hummed in agreement and ran his hands down Greg’s back, before giving his arse a firm squeeze. Greg smiled and slowly kissed his way down Sherlock’s chest, giving each nipple a quick bite. He nibbled his way down Sherlock’s belly, causing the detective to squirm and chuckle above him. He licked over two delicious hip bones, before he reached his prize.

He mouthed over the detective’s cloth covered cock, licking up the shaft and sucking on the tip as best as he could through the fabric. Sherlock squirmed again, his hands tightening against Greg’s shoulders, his hips thrusting against Greg’s mouth. Greg had mercy on the younger man, and quickly pulled his trousers off, revealing long pale, lightly furred legs. Sherlock’s boxers were basic black, Greg would have teased him more through them, but the detective was far too keyed up and they’d barely gotten started.

Greg quickly whisked Sherlock’s pants down and off, and then admired the man below him. Sherlock was beautiful, so incredibly beautiful. His body was long and lean beneath Greg’s, the usually pale skin flushed with desire. His nipples were pink and puffy from Greg’s attention, his chest and belly slightly muscled. His cock was just like the rest of him, long slender, and currently very, very hard. Grinning Greg gave the tip a quick kiss, his tongue teasing the slit. Sherlock moaned long and deep above him, one hand curling into Greg’s hair.

“You are so beautiful” Greg murmured, his lips ever so lightly mouthing along Sherlock’s shaft.

Sherlock shivered above him, his hands petting Greg’s hair.

Greg gave his cock one long, lush lick, causing the detective to let out a long moan. As fun as teasing Sherlock was, Greg didn’t want things to finish before they could do what Sherlock wanted. With one last kiss to the base of Sherlock’s cock he sat up and reached into the side table drawer, grabbing the lube. As he popped the cap, Sherlock sat up and pulled his shirt all the way off, leaving them both naked.

“How do you want me?” he asked, eyes roaming over Greg's body, dark with lust.

“On your hands and knees would be easier, but I think we both want to see each other’s faces. So on your back.”

Sherlock nodded, and sprawled onto his back.

“Put-put a pillow under your hips,” Greg instructed, as he drank in the seductive picture Sherlock made lying on the bed. Sherlock complied, licking his lips. Greg sat between Sherlock’s legs and gave him a slow kiss, his tongue gliding against Sherlock’s. The detective kissed back eagerly, groaning into his mouth.

Greg pulled back and squirted some lube onto his fingers. Sherlock’s hands caressed his hips and sides as Greg leaned down to kiss him again, using his dry hand to hook one of Sherlock’s legs around his waist. He slowly dragged one wet finger over Sherlock’s hole, causing the detective’s head to drop back onto the pillow, a breathy moan escaping his lips.

Time seemed to slow. Greg kept the kisses between them slow and deep as he circled one finger over Sherlock’s entrance, encouraging the muscle to relax. Sherlock kept up a litany of deep moans trough out, his hands squeezing Greg’s biceps as Greg’s finger circled and circled…

Sherlock tore his mouth away from Greg’s, his face was flushed and his hair was a sweaty mess spread out on the pillow, “Greg please!” he gasped, squirming as Greg kept up the madding movements of his finger.

With a grin Greg captured Sherlock’s plush lower lip between his teeth as he slowly slid one finger inside him. Sherlock inhaled sharply, tossing his head back.  

“It’s- _oh”_

“Good?” Greg asked. Fuck, he was tight! And hot, so very hot.

“Yes! Yes, just move- I n-need you to-

Sherlock’s words trailed off as he thrust against Greg’s hand. Keeping his eyes locked on Sherlock’s face Greg began to slowly work his finger in and out of the detective. “Ready for a second?” he asked, when the walls around him weren’t squeezing his finger quite so tightly.

Sherlock could only nod, his lower lip caught between his teeth, his eyes glazed with pleasure. Quickly adding more lube, Greg resumed their position and slowly slid two fingers into his lover.

Sherlock moaned, his fingers digging into Greg’s shoulders, his legs wrapped around Greg’s waist. Greg kissed him, and the detective kissed back messily, smearing their lips together. As they kissed Greg crooked his fingers upward, searching, until his fingers grazed over Sherlock’s prostate. The reaction was spectacular.

Sherlock’s back arched sharply, and he let out the most pornographic moan Greg had ever heard.

“Greg! Oh God, _Greg!”_ Sherlock wailed as Greg kept dragging his fingers over Sherlock’s prostate. He alternated between stimulating the gland directly and teasing the edges, causing Sherlock to writhe below him.

Grinning down at the mess below him, Greg began scissoring his fingers. Sherlock bucked against him, causing their cocks to slide together. Greg indulged in a few thrusts before he pulled back. He didn’t want to come, unless it was inside his detective.

Making sure there was enough lube, he carefully slid a third finger into Sherlock and kept curling them inside him, making sure to hit his prostate but not overstimulate it.

“Greg, Greg,” Sherlock gasped, clawing at his shoulders, “more, give me more!”

“Are you sure?” Greg teased, rubbing three fingers firmly over Sherlock’s prostate, making the detective cry out.

“Yes! Yes, I’m r-ready! Please!”

Greg kissed him hard. He pulled back and slid his fingers carefully out of Sherlock, before reaching for a condom from the drawer. He rolled it on and slicked himself up, before lining up with Sherlock’s entrance.

“If it’s too much tell me,” Greg said, placing a tiny kiss to Sherlock’s lips.

The detective nodded frantically, his hands grabbing Greg’s arse cheeks and squeezing.

Bracing himself on his elbows above Sherlock, Greg slowly slid into him, until the tip of his cock was inside. Sherlock’s mouth dropped open, his eyes scrunching shut. Greg littered kissed all over his face as he slowly thrust the head of his cock in and out of the detective, getting him accustomed to the stretch.

“Is it ok?” he asked, kissing the crease between Sherlock’s eyebrows.

Sherlock eyes opened slowly and focused on Greg, “Y-yes, just…just go slow.”

Greg kissed him long and deep, continuing the slow thrusts, sliding more and more of himself into Sherlock. The detective’s ankles were crossed at the small of his back, his arms linked around Greg’s shoulders, long fingered hands in his hair. Greg had never felt more cared for and loved in his life. Although he hadn’t said it, he could feel it in the way Sherlock looked at him and held him.

Greg’s chest felt tight as he bottomed out, his eyes locked onto Sherlock’s, the two of them connected in every way. Sherlock gasped softly when he slid all the way in, his eyes scrunching but not closing.

“Are you alright?” Greg asked against Sherlock lips.

“Yes. Just-just stay still for a m-moment.”

Greg kissed him, their tongues sliding together, slow and filthy. Sherlock felt absolutely glorious around him, slick and hot. They kissed and kissed as Sherlock got used to feeling full, his body curled around Greg’s.

“Ok, move.” Sherlock said, his voice soft, eyes fixed on Greg’s. He wiggled his hips slightly making Greg moan.

Greg stole one last kiss, before he pulled out slightly and rolled his hips forward. Sherlock whimpered, his eyelashes fluttering.

“More,” he gasped, his eyes burning into Greg’s.

“You asked for it, love.” Greg growled. He curled one hand around Sherlock’s knee, hiking his legs further up around Greg’s back. Locking eyes with Sherlock, he pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside the detective, then thrust back in with one smooth roll of his hips. Sherlock moaned Greg’s name, his fingers dragging down Greg’s back.

Greg kept up the rhythm, his thrusts firm and slow.  On one inward thrust he angled his hips upward, dragging his cock over Sherlock’s prostate. The detective’s eyes went wide and he tossed his head back in pleasure.

“Oh _yes_!” Sherlock groaned, his voice rough, “right there, right-

His words were cut of as Greg kept the angle of his hips, hitting his prostate again, and again, and again…

Sherlock’s moans of pleasure and tight heat around Greg’s cock was driving him closer and closer to orgasm. Sliding a hand between their bodies he wrapped one hand around Sherlock’s cock, slick with pre-come, and began jerking it in time with his thrusts.

Sherlock _wailed_ with pleasure. He hands left Greg’s shoulders and grabbed the slats in the head bored for leverage as he began thrusting his hips to meet Greg’s as best as he could.

“Greg-Greg! I’m-I’m

“That’s it love, come on,” Greg growled, keeping the angle of his hips to ensure he kept hitting Sherlock’s prostate, and twisting his hand on the upstroke.

Sherlock’s voice broke on a moan and he came, his mouth agape, head tossed back into the pillows and fingers white from how tightly he was gripping the head bored. Greg fucked him all the way through it, Sherlock’s muscles spasming deliciously around his own cock.

 He released Sherlock’s cock and gripped the detective’s hips hard, thrusting firmly into him once, twice, three times, before he was there. His mind whited out with pleasure as he came, filling the condom. Sherlock moaned weakly below him and Greg pressed a messy kiss to the side of Sherlock’s neck before collapsing on top of the detective.  

The two of them lay panting, Greg’s face buried in Sherlock’s shoulder. Holy _fuck_ that had been amazing. More than amazing, that had been indescribable. He felt Sherlock’s arms wrap around his shoulders and squeeze.

“That was,” Sherlock coughed, his voice rough from all the noise he’d made, not that Greg was complaining, “That was incredible.”

Greg grinned and pulled back. He carefully slid out of the detective, making them both hiss.

“I’ll be right back.” Greg said, pulling off the condom and tying it shut, before disappearing into the bathroom. He quickly tossed the condom in the bin and wet a flannel, then he hurried back to Sherlock.

As soon as he was back in bed Sherlock curled around him and pressed their lips together.

“Just-just let me-” Greg mumbled against Sherlock’s lips, trying to clean up the detective to make him more comfortable.

Sherlock grumbled in complaint, but pulled back. “Alright, alright. Have at it,” he said, spreading his legs and rolling his eyes at Greg. Despite the eye roll, his eyes were warm with affection and a lazy smile spread across his face.

“Does anything hurt?” Greg asked, swiping Sherlock’s thighs and belly clean of come. He gently pulled his cheeks apart to see Sherlock’s entrance, looking for irritation, before carefully wiping it.

“Greg, I’m fine, now stopping killing the mood and come here.” Sherlock said. Grabbing the flannel and tossing it away, he pulled Greg into his arms.

Greg smiled and went willingly, letting Sherlock arrange them on their sides, their legs tangled together. Once he was sure Sherlock was fine, Greg let himself go boneless in the detective’s arms.

“How was it?” he asked, smiling coyly at Sherlock.

“Couldn’t you tell?” Sherlock said, before curling a hand under Greg’s chin and pulling him into a kiss. “You, were absolutely amazing Detective Inspector,” he whispered, before kissing him again. Their lips slotted together lazily, the passion from before down to a low simmer. When Greg pulled back Sherlock was smiling at him, his eyes regarding him with such affection that Greg felt his cheeks grow warm. Sherlock chuckled and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

He curled his arms around Sherlock’s waist, careful not to touch the scars, and rested his cheek against Sherlock’s chest, closing his eyes. Sherlock rested his cheek against the top of Greg’s head and hummed with content. His entire body was relaxed around Greg, and calm was absolutely radiating from him.

Although Greg’s body was relaxed his mind was whirling out of control. Sherlock loved him. The detective hadn’t said the words, but Greg felt it in the way he held him, and the way he’d just looked at him. Greg felt the same way of course, but saying it out loud…well that was something else altogether. He could say it now, he’d wanted too for quite some time, but –

“Stop thinking.” Sherlock rumbled above him, his breath ruffling Greg’s hair.

Greg huffed and nipped Sherlock’s neck in retaliation.

“Neanderthal,” Sherlock grumbled sleepily, though Greg could hear the smile in his voice. He smiled himself and kissed the spot he’d bitten in apology.

Inhaling the comforting scent of Sherlock’s skin, Greg let himself slip away. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A double date and a disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long, real life got in the way.

“Do we really have to do this?” Sherlock grumbled as he buttoned his shirt.

“Yes, we do.” Greg replied as he sat on Sherlock’s bed to put his socks on.

“But WHY do we have to do this? It’s going to be awful,” Sherlock groaned, flopping onto the bed.

“Because, he’s your brother and he’s dating your best friend. I think getting together with them will be nice,” Greg said. He was about to stand up and find his shoes, when Sherlock’s lanky arms wrapped around his waist from behind. A moment later the detective’s lips pressed against his neck.

Greg chuckled and patted Sherlock’s hands where they rested on his belly. “Come on now, we don’t want to be late.”

“Or we could stay here,” Sherlock rumbled. He pulled himself onto his knees behind Greg and pulled the DI against his chest.

“Sherlock,” Greg groaned, “We really need to get going.”

Sherlock merely hummed in response as he trailed feather light kisses up Greg’s neck. “Come on Greg, let’s stay in and you can ravage me.” Greg rolled his eyes and tried to stand up, but Sherlock’s arms tightened around him, keeping him in place. “Or,” the detective continued with a nip to Greg’s ear, “I could ravage you. I did promise didn’t I?”

_“One day I’m going to spread you out below me and fuck you nice and slow. Would you like that Greg?”_

Greg swallowed as the memory of Sherlock’s words flashed through his brain. He was surprised he could remember them so clearly, it had been weeks since that encounter, but Greg guessed a promise like that tended to stick in one’s brain. Sherlock began kissing down the other side of his neck and as much as Greg wanted to stay, this dinner was important. Turning his face to the side, he pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s cheek, “Later you can fuck me into the mattress all night long. Now, we have a double date to get to.”

With that he pried Sherlock’s hands from his waist and stood up. Behind him Sherlock groaned and slumped back onto the bed. Greg shoved his feet into his shoes, grabbed Sherlock’s jacket and tossed it at the detective. He laughed as it landed on Sherlock’s face, covering his entire head.

“Come on Sherlock!” he said, cheerfully, “It won’t be that bad.”

The detective merely groaned from under the jacket. Greg huffed and leaned over him, placing his mouth close to Sherlock’s ear. “The faster we leave, the faster we can come back and you can fuck me nice and slow like you promised.”

Sherlock ripped the suit jacket off his face and looked at Greg, eyes wide. Greg stared back at him, eyebrows raised.

“You remember that?” Sherlock asked, voice soft.

“Of course I did. Who would forget Sherlock Holmes making a promise like that?”

Sherlock smirked at him, eyes glinting. Unable to help himself Greg pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, Sherlock tipped his head up and kissed him on the mouth. They were both smiling too much for the kiss to go anywhere, but that was fine with Greg. They had to leave now anyway.

“Come on Sherlock,” Greg said straightening up, “it’ll be fun.”

Sherlock sighed and got off the bed, smoothing his shirt and pulling on his jacket. “It would be nice to see John,” he conceded, ruffling his curls in the mirror.

“Haven’t been seeing much of him these days?”

“Not this week, no.” Sherlock suddenly seemed very preoccupied with getting his hair to fall just so over his forehead. Greg couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Sherlock. John had been understandably busy since he’d started seeing Mycroft and he could see that Sherlock missed him. 

“You know how it is when relationships are new. It’ll get better.”

Sherlock hummed non-committedly.

“It does Sherlock, really.”

Sherlock finished in the mirror and turned to face Greg. “Ready to go?” he asked, striding toward the door.

“Yeah yeah,” Greg replied, following him. In the hallway Sherlock stopped so suddenly that Greg walked into him.

“You don’t need to worry about John and I, Greg,” he said, “it’ll be fine.”

Greg’s brow furrowed in confusion, “I know you two will be Sherlock. It’s you and John, your friendship has survived worse than John dating your brother.”

Sherlock chuckled and continued down the hall. “Let’s see how much weight Mycroft’s gained since we saw him last, shall we?”

 Greg rolled his eyes and followed

 

***********

 

John had chosen the restaurant, a nice Chinese place, and he and Mycroft were already seated when Greg and Sherlock arrived.

Sherlock strode ahead of him toward the table, head held high and spine ramrod straight. Greg recognised that posture, it was the same way Sherlock walked onto a crime scene. It was the ‘I’m Sherlock Holmes and you’re an idiot posture.’

As they sat down, Sherlock gave Mycroft a nod, when he looked at John his shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Hey John, Mycroft,” Greg said brightly. John smiled at him warmly, while the corner of Mycroft’s mouth twitched in what Greg assumed was supposed to be smile.

“Hello Greg, Sherlock” John said, smiling warmly.

Greg smiled back and despite the warm greeting an awkward silence descended. Greg had no idea why he felt so awkward, he and John were good friends so there was no awkwardness there. It must have had to do with the fact that Sherlock and Mycroft were staring intently at each other without saying a word. Hell, they were barely blinking.

“So John,” Greg said, deciding to ignore the stare-down going on next to him, “How’s work at the clinic?”

“It’s been, alright. A little slow these days. Sherlock told me he was helping you with that murder- suicide. Was it the brother like he said?”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed as he kept staring at Mycroft.

“Nah. Turned out to be the jealous sister.”

Mycroft’s left eye twitched.

“Really? How’d he figure it out?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed, the intensity of his stare increasing.

“Well turns out she’d rented the car under an anagram of her own name.”

Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at his brother.

“Ah, was that- Will you two stop that!” John hissed angrily, causing Greg to jump.

The two brothers blinked rapidly, as if they’d forgotten there were other people around.

“Back in the land of the living are we?” John continued, sounding annoyed.

Greg chuckled, “Maybe we should get our own table, eh John?” he said with a wink, causing John to laugh. The tension eased somewhat.

“No need for that, Detective Inspector. Sherlock and I were merely seeing what the other’s been up too.”

Sherlock hummed in confirmation, looking vaguely disgruntled.

“Actual conversation to difficult?” John asked, talking a sip of wine.

Mycroft’s eyes narrowed at his date, “Just tedious John,” he murmured.

Greg winced, so much for easing the tension. He turned to Sherlock, who looked like he had swallowed something sour.

“What’s the matter Sherlock,” he asked, laughing nervously and trying to lighten the mood, “deduce something you didn’t like?”

Sherlock grimaced and Mycroft shot him a glare, “Not one word, Sherlock,” he growled, his eyes shooting daggers at his brother.

‘That was the absolute worst thing Mycroft could have said.’ Greg thought, ‘If someone wants Sherlock Homes to do something all they have to do is tell him it would piss off his brother.’

Giving Mycroft a sneer, he turned to Greg and snidely said, “It would appear Mycroft had a very _enjoyable_ ride on the way over here.”

“Sherlock,” Greg replied, the warning heavy in his tone, “We talked about this. No-

“I’m sure the Detective Inspector taught you all about that. Didn’t he, Sherlock? Glad to see you’re no long _alarmed_ baby brother.” Mycroft cut in sharply.

John and Greg shot each other incredulous looks. No way in _hell_ where their dates deducing their sex lives, and then using it to snipe at each other.

“Seems eating all those ice lollies as a child finally paid-

“Alright, that’s enough!” Greg hissed, trying to keep his voice down. Honestly, couldn’t the Holmes boys _ever_ get along?

“Can’t we get through one dinner, just _one_ dinner, without someone deducing who did what with who?” John griped, glaring hard at Mycroft.

Mycroft shot John a glare, “I was simply replying to wh-

“It’s doesn’t matter Mycroft!” John said, losing his cool, “You two act like a couple of toddlers when you get together and it’s bloody ridiculous!”

Greg frowned at Sherlock, who gave him a flat look in response. “John’s right,” Greg said, deepening his frown, “that’s part of the reason we wanted to meet, to get you two to try to get along.”

Sherlock looked way form Greg, his jaw clenched. Mycroft’s face went cold and blank. Slowly he turned to John, “I dislike being misled John, and since this dinner has been a sufficient waste of my time, I’ll be going.”

With that he stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. “Good night Detective Inspector.”

“Don’t you leave Mycroft Holmes, we’re not finished.” John said, catching Mycroft’s sleeve between two fingers.

Mycroft shook him off. “Good night John. I trust you can take a cab home from here.”

“Mycroft-

But Mycroft had already walked off, his umbrella griped tightly in one hand.

Greg was stunned. He had no idea his and John’s plan would back-fire this spectacularly. All they had wanted was Sherlock and Mycroft to be civil with each other, and maybe figure out why they were tense around each other in the first place.

“I have to go after him,” John said standing up and grabbing his coat from the back of his chair.

“Yeah go, good luck mate,” Greg said, “I’m sorry things went-

“Yeah me too” John cut in, clearly itching to try to catch Mycroft. He threw Greg an apologetic look and dashed out of the restaurant.

Swallowing, Greg turned to Sherlock, who was still glaring at the table. “Is our relationship so unsatisfactory that you have to go meddling into my brother’s and my affairs?” the detective said quietly, his voice icy cold.

Greg had a sinking feeling he’d fucked up way worse than he originally thought. “We were just trying to help Sherlock, honest-

Sherlock looked up at him sharply, his eyes blazing with anger, “What gives you the right to _help_ with this? I never asked for your _help._ ”

“I was just-

“You have no idea about me and brother’s history and yet here you are, trying to _mend fences_.”

“Sherlock, I really am sorry. I had no idea it would go this badly.” Greg said, feeling awful.

“That’s right. You had no idea, yet you still stuck your nose where it doesn’t belong. Trying to fix poor, broken Sherlock. Trying to make him more palatable.” Sherlock’s lips twisted into a sneer on the last word, his eyes boring accusingly into Greg’s.

Greg’s brow furrowed in confusion, “That’s not what I was trying to do at all! I-

But Sherlock had already grabbed his coat and was striding for the door.

“Sherlock wait!” Greg called, grabbing his coat and hurrying after him, ignoring the stares of the other restaurant patrons.

Outside Greg chased after Sherlock as he strode down the pavement, his coat firmly wrapped around him, the collar up to shield his face. Greg quickly caught up to him and grabbed him arm, spinning Sherlock to face him.

“Sherlock I-

Sherlock ripped his arm out of Greg’s hold and Greg backed off slightly, not wanting to piss him off more than he already was.

“Sherlock, I’m sorry. Can we talk about this, please?” Greg pleaded. He was still totally baffled by Sherlock’s reaction, but he really didn’t want him to leave angry.

“There’s nothing to talk about Lestrade.” Sherlock growled.

Greg’s stomach sank at the renewed use of his last name. “Sherlock I wasn’t trying to meddle, really. John and I just wanted to help!”

“And what gives you the right?” Sherlock barked, striding toward him and shoving his face close to Greg’s. “What gives you the right to just pry into things that don’t concern you?”

Greg gaped at him. He and Sherlock were in a relationship. Was it really that bad to help him and his brother if they were together?

Apparently it was.

Sherlock stared hard him, his eyes narrowed with fury, clearly waiting for an answer.

“Because we’re-we’re…” Greg sputtered, making a helpless gesture between the two of them and failing to find the right words to encompass what they were.

Sherlock pulled back and stood tall. The fury leaked out of his eyes, only to be replaced with cruel amusement.

“Because we’re _boyfriends_?” he said mockingly, “Trying to fix things with Mycroft so it won’t be awkward with the in-laws?”

He let out a mean chuckle, “Really Greg, a few fucks and that’s what you think we are.”

Greg could only stare at Sherlock, his mouth agape. Anger flooded his system, how could Sherlock be so cruel to him!

“Don’t you do that Sherlock Holmes. Don’t you dare mock me like that because you’re upset.”

“I’m merely stating facts Greg, now if you’ll excuse me I need to get home.”

With that Sherlock turned sharply on his heel and strode off, leaving Greg gaping after him, his fists clenched in anger.

 

*************

 

“He said _what_?” John sputtered, putting his glass down with a thunk.

It was the day after their disastrous double date. That night Greg had gone home to a flat that felt colder than usual. A few hours later John had texted him, saying he was back at Baker Street after Mycroft had refused to let him in. Sherlock had been locked in his room and was ignoring him too.

“He said that you?” John continued, sounding horrified.

Greg nodded morosely, eye fixed on his pint, feeling like shit. “I had no idea they would react this badly,” he said glumly.

John nodded. “What I want to know is _why_? Why did they react this badly? What could possibly have happened between them?”

Greg took a drink of his beer and nodded. “Ever since I knew Sherlock he’s always had this animosity toward his brother. Mycroft had him under pretty intense surveillance then, so I thought that was why. That was years ago though…”

“It has to be something deeper.” John said, nodding sagely, “What should we do, try to investigate ourselves?”

Greg was shaking his head before John had even finished speaking. “That’ll make it worse. Look how badly they reacted to us just trying to get them to eat together. Imagine if we try to pry further.”

John winced. “You’re right.” He puffed his cheeks up and blew out a loud breath, “So now we try to get our men to forgive us?” he said with a sardonic smile.

Greg grinned gloomily, “I’m not sure if he should forgive me or if I should forgive him…”

************

 

Four days later and Greg still hadn’t spoken to Sherlock. During the past days he’d oscillated between anger and sadness. Anger at the awful things Sherlock had said and sadness over how Sherlock had shut him out.

Once again Sherlock had used Greg’s insecurities against him in a fight. He’d done it that time he’d stood Greg up, and he’d done it now. Granted this time Greg had crossed a line, a line he hadn’t even known was there, but that still gave Sherlock no right to throw Greg’s uncertainties in his face just to win an argument. This frustrated him to no end. Sherlock had to see that he couldn’t just hurt Greg like that just because he was angry.

The best thing to do, although Greg dreaded it, was to talk to Sherlock, but he had to sort out his own feelings first. A part of him also wanted Sherlock to come to him first, begging for forgiveness.

He’d heard from John yesterday. The good doctor had made a bit of progress with Mycroft, but still had no idea what exactly had set off both brothers in the restaurant. He’d told Greg that Sherlock hadn’t spoken to him since, and had spent most of the last four days in his mind palace. Greg had no idea what to make of that. Couldn’t Sherlock just _talk_ to him?

“Sir? Sir are you there?” Donovan’s voce crackled in his ear. Greg pulled himself out of his thoughts and resisted the urge to touch his ear with the ear piece in it.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he said, keeping his voice low.

This was the other reason he hadn’t decided what to do about Sherlock yet. A big break had come in a human trafficking case Greg and his team had been working on long term. As much as he hated leaving this new problem with Sherlock to stew, it couldn’t be helped. Relationship problems were no excuse for shoddy work.

Now he was in a pub trailing a main player in the trafficking ring. The man in question was sipping a pint at the bar, calm as can be, as he waited for a seller, Andrew Cooper, to show. Greg sat in a table near the back with Dimmock, the two of them subtly keeping an eye on the target.

“Cooper is on his way in,” Sally murmured through the ear piece.

“Got it,” Greg replied, pretending to speak to Dimmock.

A few moments later a tall, tanned man entered the bar. Greg recognised him instantly from his mug shot, it was Cooper. He made his way to the bar and sat down next to their main mark and began chatting quietly. Greg cursed the fact that they were too far away to hear. He slid quietly out of his seat and made his way to the bar, not too far from where the two men sat. Signalling the bar tender, Greg ordered another pint, keeping his body language casual. Cooper looked up at him and caught his eye, Greg smiled pleasantly, the same way he would smile at any stranger he made eye contact with. Cooper simply stared at him for a moment before turning back to his colleague and huddling closer so they wouldn’t be overheard.

As he waited for the beer, Greg causally eyed the bottles above the bar, his ears pricked on the conversation Cooper was having.

“…..at 1 then?” Cooper whispered.

“Yeah, you could come for a visit then. Bring the stock and we’ll move to the new place.”

Greg’s beer had arrived at this point and he had to leave the bar, least he make then suspicious. He’d gotten what he need though. They knew the drop point Copper had for the girls he planned to sell.

‘Girls he referred to as stock.’ Greg thought bitterly.

 All they needed to do was catch the man in the act to make an arrest that would stick. Greg took his beer back to Dimmock and relayed what he’d heard.

“So we have them then?” Dimmock whispered. Greg nodded taking a fake sip of his beer. He glanced at Cooper and found the man staring at him, a look in his eyes that Greg didn’t like. Greg turned back to Dimmock.

“You leave first, I’ll get the tab and follow. Take a cab when you get out of the pub. Don’t look at Donovan in the car,” he said softly, keeping his face animated as if they were having a friendly conversation.

Dimmock nodded. He got up, gave Greg a slap on the back the way two friends did when they were leaving and ducked out the bar into the cold night. Greg followed a few moments later. Cooper’s eyes had followed him on the way out.

He’d been found out.

“Donovan” he said, as he made his way down the pavement, “I’ve been made.”

“What” Donovan said, “Is he following you?”

Greg glanced in the mirrored store window across the street. He saw Cooper trailing behind him, trying to appear casual as he walked down the almost deserted street behind Greg.

“Yeah he is.”

“Ok Greg, we’re coming just stay on the street and we’ll pick you up.”

Greg didn’t respond. He wanted to kick something. They’d been trailing this bastard for _months_ and he’d just fucked everything up. He saw Donovan’s unmarked car further up the street waiting for him. Just as was contemplating how to explain what had happened, he felt two hands grab him and drag him into the dark alley he was passing in front of.

Greg grunted as he was shoved against the wall. The face of Cooper’s associate inches from his own.

“Think you’re smart don’t you copper? We had you made from the moment you walked into the pub,” the man growled. He had one arm pressed across Greg’s throat the other was holding a knife against Greg’s belly. He could feel the coldness of the metal through his shirt.

Adrenalin coursed through Greg’s system, and he squirmed in the man’s grasp, trying to find a weak point. He wrapped his hands around his attackers arm. Greg could have pulled him off easily and had him in a head lock in minutes, but knife digging into the skin of his stomach threw a wrench into that plan.

‘Donovan’s right up the street, she’ll get you out of this,’ he thought desperately.

The arm against his throat tightened, making Greg gag. He glared at his assailant and was about to knee him when a bang from up the street startled them both. Greg reacted quickly, he wrenched the arm away from his throat and brought his knee up.

Hard _._

A yowl of pain reached his ears, before white hot agony ripped across his stomach. Greg gasped and fell back against the alley wall, his hands pressed over his belly as blood seeped through his fingers. The assailant was on the ground, clutching his groin in pain.

‘I’ve been stabbed’ he thought weakly, as he slowly crumpled to the ground and stared at the man who’d done it. A man who was apparently too preoccupied with his own pain to notice his knife was still stuck in Greg’s stomach.

The pain blotted out his thoughts then.

He surfaced some time later. It couldn’t have been that long since Sally was leaning over him now, one hand pressed against his belly, the other barking orders into her hand-held.

Greg must have made a sound. Sally looked down at him, her eyes filled with fury and worry.

“Don’t worry Greg, an ambulance is on the way, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be just fine.”

Greg looked away from her, staring up at the foggy sky above. His arms and legs are freezing. His vision began to fade and he knew he should be scared, but he just couldn’t muster the energy for it. He suddenly wished Sherlock was there, holding his hand and petting him.

A rattling breath choked it way out of Greg’s mouth before everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun DUN! What will happen next? How will Sherlock react to Greg's stabbing? What has Mycroft and Sherlock so tightly wound? 
> 
> Find out next time on After All This Time!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A recovery and an explaination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten chapters! I can't believe I got this far in this fic! Thanks to all you lovely readers for your kindness and support!

Pain bloomed across Greg’s stomach as his eyes fluttered open slightly.

The light was blinding.

He must have made some sort of noise for suddenly there was a figure leaning over him. Greg had just enough time to recognise dark curly hair and pale eyes before unconsciousness took him again.

 

************

 

When he woke up again he managed to turn his head to the side. John was asleep on the chair next to his bed. Greg’s head was spinning, and his mouth felt like sandpaper. One of his hands felt unusually warm. Glancing down, and wincing when his head swam, he saw Sherlock asleep with his head and arms propped on Greg’s bed. One of his large hands was wrapped around Greg’s.

For some reason, that Greg’s drugged mind couldn’t pin down, Sherlock’s presence didn’t feel comforting. Instead Greg felt irked. He frowned down at Sherlock’s sleeping form, trying to figure it out. The drugs pulled him back under before he could.

 

************

 

Awake again. His head felt a little clearer. He coughed and winced, it felt like he’d swallowed ground glass mixed with acid. As he coughed again, he felt something pull in his stomach and cried out in pain.

“Greg!” suddenly Sherlock was looming over him, his eyes wide. Greg blinked blurrily at him, and tried to smother his other coughs.  Sherlock vanished from view for a moment, then reappeared with a glass of water and straw in hand.

Greg sucked gratefully on the straw as Sherlock stared at him.

“What happened?” he whispered, when he’d finished. Sherlock sat on the edge of his bed and gently stroked his fingers through Greg’s hair.

“You were stabbed-well slashed.” Sherlock said quietly, cupping his cheek.

Greg thought back to….wait how long had he been unconscious?

“How-how

“Sixteen hours.” Sherlock said quietly, “The wound wasn’t deep and no major organs were hit, but it bled quite a bit, which was concerning.”

Greg blinked stupidly at Sherlock, his brain felt like molasses. “So…I’ll-

“You’ll be fine yes, but you’ll be off duty for a while, and you’ll be in here for at least a few more days.”

Greg blinked at him again, ‘hadn’t the knife been sticking out of him, and why was Sherlock even here? Hadn’t he said they weren’t boyfriends?’

Before he could process that mean thought, John came through the door with two steaming cups in his hands and a sandwich tucked under one arm. “Ok Sherlock, you promised you’d eat- Greg! You’re awake!” he said, grinning at him. He set his spoils on the side table and hurried over to Greg’s side, resting one hand on his shoulder. Sherlock’s hand was still running obsessively through his hair.

Greg mustered up a smile for John, who gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze, “You buzzed a nurse, right Sherlock?” The detective shook his head, his eyes still glued to Greg’s face. “Sherlock! You knew you were supposed to!” Greg winced at the volume of John’s voice, causing Sherlock to level a glare at the army doctor.

John merely rolled his eyes at Sherlock, before giving Greg an apologetic smile. “I’ll be right back ok?” he told Greg softly, “Just gonna get a nurse.”

Greg nodded. He felt fine really, if a bit woozy. He must be on some spectacular drugs, since his thoughts felt like molasses and he couldn’t feel any pain.

“Greg,” Sherlock said softly, “Greg I- I’m sorry.”

Greg squinted at him. What was Sherlock apologizing for? He hadn’t stabbed him.

“For what I said outside the restaurant I-

Greg shook his head. He couldn’t have this conversation now, he didn’t _want_ to have this conversation now. Not when he could barely string his thoughts together, let alone his words.

“Not now Sherlock. Really- later. Ok?”

Sherlock nodded, his lips pressed together. The door to Greg’s room opened, revealing John and another doctor. Sherlock gave him a gentle kiss to the forehead before getting off the bed to make room for the doctor to examine him.

 

 

************

 

It turned out Greg hadn’t been stabbed per say, rather he’d been slashed. When he‘d kneed his attacker in the groin, he’d thrown him off balance, causing the knife to drag across his stomach, rather than puncture his abdomen. The result was a nine inch gash across his stomach. Thankfully the man had been reeling backward as he cut, so the gash wasn’t consistently deep. The deepest point had cut down to the muscle and the shallowest was merely a superficial cut. All in all, Greg thought he’d gotten off easy, considering what could have happened.

Now, it was four days later and he and John were sitting alone in Greg’s hospital room. Sherlock had gone off in search of pudding for Greg. Greg hadn’t asked for it, but Sherlock was insistent. They still hadn’t spoken about what happened after that disastrous double date, and Greg was dreading when they would. Things between them were tense to say the least. He’d been using John as a shield against Sherlock, much to army doctor’s amusement, by finding excuses for John to hang around in his room. He knew he and Sherlock would have to talk about things soon though. Greg was on the mend and not on enough pain meds to use being groggy as an excuse, and John could only get so many days off form the surgery.

Greg was sitting up in bed, watching telly. He and John had been sitting in companionable silence while Sherlock was on his pudding hunt, when the army doctor said: “So how’re you feeling?”

Greg turned to him with an incredulous look. John let out a little self-deprecating laugh, “No, not physically. I mean about…” he nodded his head in the direction of the door Sherlock had just disappeared through.

“Oh, that.” Greg stared down at his hands and tried to determine just how he felt about Sherlock now, after the awful things Sherlock had said at the restaurant and the subsequent stabbing.

“You know,” he said, still staring at his hands, “I’ve heard that these kind of things,” he gestured to his bandaged stomach, “are supposed to put things into perspective. You know?”

John nodded, his brow furrowed.

“But I’m still pissed at him.” Greg huffed, “I’m still angry, even though I’m tired and feel like shit, and I don’t’ _want_ to be angry at him anymore _because_ I’m so tired, I still am. I’m still pissed at him.”

“I don’t blame you Greg, I don’t blame you at all.”

“But?” Greg prompted, he could hear the hesitation in John’s voice.

“But I know he didn’t mean those things he said,” John continued in a rush. Greg’s lips twisted and he waited for John to elaborate.

“You should have seen his face when we heard what happened. I’ve never seen Sherlock look that shaken before.” John’s voice had gone soft with the weight of his words, “Then when we got to hospital and were waiting for you to come out of surgery he- I don’t know- he just went off line, and the look on his face…” John’s voice trailed off and he leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He cried.”

Greg felt his eyebrows shoot up.

“Yeah, he did. When we saw you after you’d just gotten out of surgery. Not loud sobs or anything dramatic like that, I mean its Sherlock, but I glanced at him and there were tears running down his face. The only other time I’ve seen him cry is on the roof of Saint Bart’s before he- before he-you know.” John swallowed and looked at Greg.

Greg felt torn. On the one hand, he was touched over how broken up Sherlock had been over him. He’d never seen Sherlock cry, and to hear that Sherlock had cried over him moved Greg, his heart would have to be stone of it didn’t. On the other hand, if he hadn’t gotten hurt where would he and Sherlock be now? Still not speaking, most likely.

He sighed, “It’s not that simple John.”

“I know,” the army doctor said, “A few tears can’t erase what he said, and you have every right to be angry with him, but after what I saw there’s no question that Sherlock cares for you. A lot.” John’s expression said he knew just how much Sherlock cared, but wasn’t willing to say it on behalf of the detective.

Greg sighed and stared up at the ceiling. He knew Sherlock cared for him, but he was still angry. He was angry with Sherlock because he said things to Greg that he knew would hurt the most. He used the aspects of their relationship that Greg was insecure about to hurt him. If Sherlock could do that, then how much could Greg matter to him?

Maybe he wasn’t as sure about Sherlock’s feelings as he thought.

Greg was suddenly exhausted by the conversation.

“So how’re things with Mycroft?” he asked, changing the topic.

John’s lips twisted. “They’re better. He still hasn’t explained why they over reacted in the restaurant. So that still has me peeved.”

“He hasn’t even hinted at anything, or let anything slip?”

John grinned, “Mycroft Holmes is not the kind of man to let things slip. Whenever I bring it up he distracts me.”

Greg’s forehead creased, “How does he do that?”

John’s grin slowly turned filthy and he ducked his head to look at Greg through his lashes, his eyes filled with mischief. Greg felt his eyebrows climb his forehead and his cheeks heat. A laugh burst out of his mouth as the absurdity of the situation hit him. Here he was recovering from a stabbing, discussing a domestic he’d had with Sherlock Holmes with his army doctor best friend, while said best friend was alluding to his sex life with Mycroft bloody Holmes.

If someone had told him two months ago that this is what his life would become, he would have laughed them out of town.

John’s grin got wider and wider, until he was laughing along with Greg. Just then the door swung open and Sherlock walked through, his hands filled with pudding cups. His stared at Greg and John as the two men tried to control their laughter. It was impossible though. Sherlock standing and blinking at them in the doorway, his hands filled with pudding, just added to the ridiculousness of the situation.

As they laughed, Sherlock’s face morphed into a scowl and he strode into the room. He dropped the pudding cups on Greg’s side table before sitting on the side of Greg’s bed and taking his hand.

“Are you two quite finished?” he sniffed, setting John and Greg off again.

Greg clutched at his stomach, “Oh god,” he wheezed, still laughing despite the ache emanating from his stomach. Finally the two men managed to get their laughter under control.

“Sorry Sherlock,” John said breathlessly, wiping tears from his eyes. He glanced between the two of them, still smiling and said; “I’ll head back to Baker Street for a bit then. Okay Greg?”

Greg grinned and nodded, still chuckling. John came over and gave his shoulder a squeeze. After hesitating a moment he leaned down and gave Greg a hug. Greg was stunned, but pleased and hugged his friend back.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” John said straightening up.

Greg smiled and then turned to Sherlock. The detective’s eyes were boring into his face. Greg gave his hand a squeeze as he heard the door close quietly behind John as the doctor left. “Sherlock, we need to talk.”

The detective nodded and clasped Greg’s hand between both of his. His palms were warm and dry against Greg’s

“I’m so sorry Greg.” He said, his voice soft, “I didn’t mean those things I said, I swear, and I-

Greg held up his free hand, cutting him off. He’d planed what he wanted to say, and damn it he was going to say it.

“I know you didn’t mean those things Sherlock, but you still said them. The fact that you didn’t mean it just proves that you were trying to say something that would hurt me the most. Am I right?”

Sherlock swallowed and looked away from Greg, “I was angry.”

Greg sighed and let his head flop back onto the pillows. “We discussed this before Sherlock. Just because you’re angry doesn’t mean you can say awful things to me and then expect everything to be fine once you apologize.”

He raised his head to look at Sherlock. The detective was staring out the window, his lips turned down in a frown.

“Look at me,” Greg said. Reluctantly the detective turned to face him, his eyes tense.

“You undermined our entire relationship. You called me a quick fuck and-

“I didn’t mean that!” Sherlock cut in, his voice frantic, “Greg I swear you’re much more to me than that!” Sherlock dropped the hand he’d had prisoner and cupped his hands around Greg’s cheeks, leaning in so close that his curls brushed against Greg’s forehead. “You’re so much more, you’re _everything,_ but I felt tricked into a therapy session with Mycroft and I was just so angry that I wanted you to feel as awful as I did and _I’m sorry!”_

Greg blinked at Sherlock, struck by the passion of his outburst. The detective was panting in anguish, his eyes flicking back and forth between Greg’s, trying to deduce what the DI was thinking. Gently, Greg wrapped his hands around Sherlock’s and pulled them away from his face. Folding their hands together, he set them on his lap as he processed what the detective had just said.

 Sherlock had said he was everything.

_Everything._

“Everything?” he asked, his voice coming out weaker than he expected.

Sherlock nodded desperately, his eyes wide, hands clamped tight around Greg’s. “I know what I said is unforgivable, but I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry. Would it-

He paused and looked away, licking his lips. “Would it help if I explained why I reacted the way I did?” Sherlock continued, seeming to steel himself, “I know you still may not forgive me but- but at least let me give you all the data before you decide.”

Greg wanted to forgive him, the fact that Sherlock had pretty much confessed that he loved Greg was almost enough, but he still had to hear what caused his detective to react so viciously.

He locked eyes with Sherlock. The detective was staring at him pleadingly, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Yes, an explanation would help,” Greg said, his voice cautious, “That’s what had John and I so baffled. I mean I know we weren’t exactly honest about our intensions, but what we did certainly didn’t deserve the reaction it had.”

Sherlock nodded, “Yes I did over react and-

“No need to apologize again. Just explain.”

Sherlock nodded, he looked so stricken that Greg couldn’t help but feel a bit sorry for him.

“Come here you,” Greg said, smiling slightly as he cupped one hand around Sherlock’s cheek. The detective leaned into the touch, nuzzling against Greg’s palm. Greg smiled softly and guided Sherlock forward for a sweet little kiss. The detective sagged against him and curled his hands around Greg’s biceps. When Greg pulled back Sherlock’s eyes where still shut. He watched in fascination as the detective’s eyes fluttered slowly open.

“Thank you Greg,” he whispered, his eyes and voice impossibly soft.

“Now explain.” Greg said, sitting back.

Sherlock nodded, his lips pressed together. He stared down at his lap and he was quite for a few beats, finally he looked up at Greg and began.

 

***********

 

“Mycroft and I had an older brother. His name was Sherrinford Holmes, he was two years older than Mycroft, and he died 20 years ago.”

Greg felt his jaw drop.  In all the years he’d known Sherlock there had never been any indication of another sibling, let alone one who’d past away.

“I’m so sorry Sherlock, I didn’t know-

“I know you didn’t,” Sherlock said, giving him a soft smile, “Barely anyone does, not even John. Anyway, Sherrinford was like Mycroft and myself, gifted, and like Mycroft he was MI6.”

“Mycroft’s MI6?” Greg squawked, shocked. He knew the older Holmes was high in the government, but he never thought…

“Yes he is, as was my other brother.” Sherlock continued, smiling slightly, though his shoulders were tense. Clearly this story was difficult for him to tell, and he was trying to get through it as quickly as possible.

“Mycroft joined because of him actually. The two of them were very close.” A trace of bitterness entered Sherlock’s voice. “They were closer in age you see.”

“While Sherrinford was older and thus already in training- and flying up through the ranks- Mycroft had more talent for the job. Soon he’d surpassed Sherrinford and the closeness between them began to turn into a rivalry. Sherrinford resented Mycroft for out shining him and Mycroft felt guilty for, what he saw, as betraying the brother he’d admired so much.”

Sherlock paused and took a deep breath. Greg waited patiently, though he felt dread building within him.

“Eventually Mycroft was given a position that put him in command of Sherrinford’s division. By then their relationship had deteriorated to the point where they weren’t speaking. You could imagine the Christmas dinners,” Sherlock said with a weak smile, “Sherrinford accused Mycroft of using underhanded means to get where he was and Mycroft thought Sherrinford just wasn’t trying hard enough. If Mycroft could do it couldn’t Sherrinford?”

Sherlock let out a sarcastic little laugh, “At least that’s what Mycroft thought.”

“He still felt guilty over outshining Sherrinford though, so he began putting Sherrinford in charge of missions, missions that he wasn’t the best choice for.  At this point I was on the drugs, and getting in deep. Mycroft was splitting his time between keeping an eye on me and keeping an eye on Sherrinford. That’s when everything went wrong.”

Sherlock took another deep breath, his eyes glued to he and Greg’s joined hands.

“I had overdosed one night. Mycroft came himself with a small team to pull me out of the drug den I was in and take me to the hospital. He was supposed to go undercover that same day in Russia to collect intel, but then he heard about me. Sherrinford offered to go in his stead so Mycroft could take care of me.”

Sherlock swallowed and looked nervously up at Greg, as if he expected reprimand for something he’d done twenty years ago. Greg was just glad Sherlock was alive and well now, so he simply brought Sherlock’s hand to his lips and kissed it. “Go on then,” he said.

Sherlock gave him a weak smile and continued. “So Sherrinford went off on the mission and Mycroft came to me. I was- I was in a very bad way and he had to stay with me for longer than he planned. This meant that he couldn’t over see Sherrinford and neutralize threats he’d missed.”

“Wait,” Greg cut in, “Sherrinford missed threats?”

Sherlock nodded, “Like I said, he wasn’t as deft as Mycroft. He tended to rush into things, and instead of pointing it out, Mycroft would have minor teams mobilized to take care of the things Sherrinford missed.”

Greg felt stunned that Mycroft would go through all of that instead of telling his brother he wasn’t right for a job.

Reading the thoughts off his face Sherlock continued, “You have to understand Mycroft felt awful over Sherrinford’s feelings of inadequacy. He felt it was his fault, and was trying to fix it. Despite being a self-proclaimed genius Mycroft can be quite the idiot.”

Greg knew someone else like that.

“The mission went wrong,” Sherlock said, his voice so quite Greg had to strain to hear him, “Sherrinford didn’t make it.”

Greg squeezed Sherlock’s hand, “I’m so sorry Sherlock. I had no idea.”

Sherlock nodded, “Mycroft was still in the hospital with me when it happened. He- well- we both said things we shouldn’t have. He blamed Sherrinford’s death on my drug use taking him away from work, and I blamed his ineptitude and need to coddle our brother.”

Greg winced, he knew how awful and cutting two angry, raw Holmes brothers could be.

“After that, things between Mycroft and I were tense to say the least. We didn’t speak when I was in rehab and, after I got out, Mycroft became obsessed with monitoring me. In his mind if he could watch and control every move I made what happened to Sherrinford wouldn’t happen to me. I can’t tell you how many people I knew disappeared or stopped associating with me because Mycroft scared them away. I hated him for that, for not letting me make my own choices and rearranging my life to suite himself. He wasn’t even upfront about it. A friend of mine would simply begin ignoring me, and then I would realise it was Mycroft’s melding.”

Suddenly Sherlock looked up at him and smiled, “You were the first person to stand up to him actually.”

“I was?” Greg said mystified. He remembered his first interaction with Mycroft Holmes very well, despite how long ago it had been. He and Sherlock had just met and one day Mycroft had strode in to Greg’s office and offered him money for ‘information’ on Sherlock. Greg had refused, he wasn’t about to betray the intriguing young man he’d just met, who he felt strangely protective over. Mycroft had then told him that refusing to be an asset could be detrimental to his career. Greg, who just made Sargent, wasn’t about to let some git in a three piece suit threaten him. He had told Mycroft as much and thrown him out of his office. He and Sherlock solved a triple homicide the next day.

“He offered me money to spy on you.” Greg said.

Sherlock nodded, his mouth tight, “That’s his trick. Those who accept his offer find themselves being transferred in their job or something else just as unfortunate, the next day. As if I can’t tell when someone isn’t honest with me,” he said, giving Greg a wry smile.

“I called him git,” Greg chuckled.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corners of this mouth.

“He threatened my job and I called him git and had him escorted from the building.” Greg continued, chuckling harder.

Sherlock joined in, “What I would have given to see his face.” He sobered suddenly. “Now do you see why Mycroft and I don’t get along? His need to take care of me prevents me from running my own life, and he thinks I’m being unreasonable when I complain about it.”

Greg nodded slowly, processing all the information he’d been given. “I get that what happened hurt you and Mycroft’s relationship, but don’t you think there’s anything that can make it better?”

Sherlock sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, “Until Mycroft learns to back off and stop trying to control my life, then no. It can’t.”

Greg takes Sherlock’s chin in his hand and turned the detective to face him, “I’m willing to help with that when you’re ready, and I’m sorry for meddling. If I knew then what I know now I wouldn’t have.”

Sherlock nodded, his own hand sliding up to cup Greg’s cheek, “And I’m sorry for saying those awful things just to hurt you.”

“Kiss me then,” Greg breathed, and Sherlock was only too happy to comply. Their lips met slowly and sweetly, the two of them melting into the kiss. After, Greg pulled back and placed his lips against Sherlock’s ear. “And just so you know, you’re everything to me too Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock looked at him a moment, eyes wide and lips parted, before he threw his arms around Greg and hugged him tightly, burying his face in Greg’s shoulder. Greg laughed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist, pressing a kiss into his hair. “My everything,” he whispered, causing a muffled whimper from the man in his arms.

“So you forgive me?” Sherlock whispered, his words muffled by Greg’s neck.

Greg ran his fingers gently through Sherlock’s curls, “Yes I do, but if this happens again Sherlock things will end very differently.”

“It won’t I promise.” Sherlock said sincerely, before moving his lips to Greg’s ear and nipping at the lobe, “and I promise to make it up to you many _many_ times over,” he purrs, causing the older man to shiver.

“Well then, I think that should make us even,” Greg chuckled, giving his mad detective a tight squeeze.

Things would be back to normal now, he could sense it. He’d forgiven Sherlock and he could tell it helped the detective quite a bit to finally tell him about his and Mycroft’s history. Now all Greg had to do was recover form him injuries. Then, he thought devilishly, he could take Sherlock up on his promise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the end yet, more to come.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock full fills a promise and Greg gets a gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex and fluff ahead, then back to the plot in the next chapter. We're nearing the end of this folks!  
> This is unbetaed so all errors are my own.

Greg trotted up the stairs of Baker Street excitedly. It was two weeks into his three week leave from work and he felt much better. Sherlock had been treating his sick leave as a vacation of sorts. He’d come over every day to Greg’s flat to keep him company when Greg was still on bed rest, and then to take him out when he could move around again. Things had been going really well, and Greg couldn’t be happier.

Ever since Sherlock had explained his history with Mycroft and they’d confessed their feelings for one another in the hospital, it was as if a weight had lifted off the detective’s shoulders. He was much calmer these days, and there was a new air of satisfaction around him that made Greg incredibly happy.

Now he was hurrying up the stairs, eager to get to Sherlock. On the phone the detective had said he had a surprise for Greg that would full fill a promise he had made. Greg had no idea what Sherlock was referring to, but he looked forward to finding out.

He pushed open the door to the flat and what he saw made his jaw drop.

There were candles. Loads and loads of thick, white candles placed on trays on almost every flat surface in the room. A fire was burning in the fireplace and a nest of pillows and blankets was set up in front of it. Mesmerized Greg approached the pillow nest and smiled at what he saw.

Sherlock had scattered lush, red rose petals all over the blankets and pillows on the floor. Greg felt himself flush as a drunken memory of him telling Sherlock they needed candles and rose petals for their first time flashed through his mind. Although it wasn’t their first time, it looked like Sherlock still intended to follow through.

A chuckle from the corner of the room pulled him out of his thoughts. Looking behind him, Greg saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, smiling warmly at him. The candle light made him look even more handsome than usual. As he watched, Sherlock stood up and sauntered over to the door and shut it, turning the lock.

“It’s lovely Sherlock.” Greg breathed, turning back to the pillow nest, unsure how to properly express just how romantic he found the entire thing.

He heard Sherlock chuckle behind him, “I’m glad you like it.” Large hands came up and slid Greg’s coat off his shoulders. “There’s more though, just one moment,” he continued, before hanging up Greg’s coat and disappearing into his bedroom.

Greg gave him a suspicious look, before he kicked off his shoes and crawled into the mound of pillows. It was spectacular. Sherlock had placed some sort of padding below the blanket, making it very soft under Greg’s bum, and there were more than enough pillows for him to prop himself up.

A few moments later, Sherlock returned, holding a small, gift wrapped box in his hands. He slid off his own shoes and flopped down beside Greg. The detective reached for him and pulled Greg to sit between his legs, with Greg’s back pressed against his chest. Without a word he handed him the box, and tucked his head over Greg’s shoulder, his curls tickling Greg’s cheek.

Greg stared at the box a moment. Warmth suffused his body. It was from more than just the fire and the detective behind him, but from the special treatment of a romantic pillow nest _and_ a gift.

“You really didn’t have to, Sherlock.” Greg said quietly, running his fingers over the smooth paper. Sherlock merely hummed and pressed a kiss to the side of Greg’s neck, his arms curling around his waist.

“Open it,” he rumbled, his lips dragging against Greg’s skin.

Greg smiled and tore the dark green paper off the package, revealing a matt black box. His eyes widened as he saw the word _Cartier_ embossed on the smooth surface.

“You _didn’t_...” he gasped, looking over his shoulder at Sherlock with wide eyes. Sherlock gave him a squeeze.

“Why don’t you open it before you get hysterical hum?” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

“I not getting hysterical,” Greg grumbled as he carefully opened the box.

Inside, white silky fabric cushioned one of the nicest [watches](http://imgbrand.gq.com.cn/data/attachments/2011/11/1321969513c6753b9d219ae224.png.360X360.jpg) Greg had ever seen. The band was a rich, dark brown leather, with a silver face surrounded by a metal that Greg strongly suspected was gold. The hands and side dial were a beautiful dark blue. It was very posh and probably the nicest gift Greg had ever been given. His throat suddenly felt very tight.

“Do you like it?” Sherlock whispered. His voice sounded slightly worried and Greg realised he’d been silent for too long.

“Oh Sherlock, it’s- it’s- it’s gorgeous. Thank you! It’s the nicest gift I’ve ever gotten.” Greg said, his voice husky with emotion.

Sherlock’s hands reached for Greg’s left wrist and undid his old watch “Try it on. Let me see how it looks.”

Greg smiled and scooped the watch out the box and buckled it on. He held his wrist out in the light and rotated it slowly, admiring the way the light bounced off the face. The leather felt smooth and warm against his skin, and the watch was a pleasant weight against his wrist.

“It’s perfect Sherlock, thank you so much.”

“It suits you beautifully,” the detective rumbled, before he curled his forefinger and thumb under Greg’s chin and turned his head for a kiss. Greg grinned against Sherlock lips, before he pulled back slowly and turned around, bringing himself to his knees between Sherlock’s legs.  The detective looked up at him, eyes warm with lust. Greg licked his lips and wrapped his arms around the detective’s neck, giving him a deep kiss. Sherlock hummed against his mouth and curled his arms tight around Greg’s waist. As they kissed he slowly slid his hands up Greg sides and gave his biceps a squeeze.

“Now it’s time to full fill my promise.” Sherlock purred, as he nipped at Greg’s neck.

“What?” Greg said breathlessly. Damn consulting detectives and their clever teeth and tongues.

“If you remember,” Sherlock murmured between nips to Greg’s skin, “I promised to fuck you nice. And. Slow,” he punctuated the last three words with particularly delicious sucks to Greg’s neck.

Greg shivered violently, “Oh,” he managed to gasp, as Sherlock grinned evilly at him and pushed him back onto the blanket. Greg blinked up at Sherlock and wiggled to find a more comfy spot on the blanket. His movements crushed the rose petals below him, causing their sweet scent to fill the room. Sherlock smirked down at him, his eyes dancing with mischief. He reached for his shirt buttons and began to slowly undo them. Greg reached up to help, but Sherlock stopped him, pushing him back onto the ground.

“Just watch and enjoy Greg,” he murmured. He got to his feet and turned around, throwing a wink over his shoulder at Greg, before slowly sliding the shirt off his shoulders.

Greg gulped and propped himself up on his elbows, admiring the way the muscles in Sherlock’s back rippled as he took his shirt off.  Once the shirt was discarded, Sherlock threw a smile over his shoulder at Greg and reached for the zipper and snap of his trousers. Slowly and sinfully he slid them down his legs.

Greg stifled a moan, as felt his own cock begin to thicken. The bastard wasn’t wearing any pants, which meant his delicious arse was being revealed to Greg inch by inch. He licked his lips as strong thighs and lean calves were slowly bared to him, and of course that arse. Holy hell that arse.

Just as Greg was coming up with something appropriately filthy to show just _exactly_ how he felt about Sherlock’s arse, the detective turned around to face him, towering over him and smirking. His cock was already half hard and Greg was sure he was drooling at the sight before him.

“Like what you see?” the detective teased, as he wrapped one hand around his cock and gave it a slow stroke.

Greg watched, enraptured, as Sherlock slowly fisted his own prick. His head dropped back, bearing his neck and soft moans slipped pasted his lips as his cock filled out in his hand. His other hand slid up his chest and began brushing over his nipples. Greg had seen enough. He pushed himself onto his knees and grabbed Sherlock by the hips, pulling the detective down on top of him.

Sherlock let out a yelp that was quickly cut short as Greg crashed their lips together. His hands groped at Sherlock’s arse, enjoying the way the plush flesh felt between his fingers. Sherlock pulled back, propping himself on his elbows above Greg. Not wanting to stop kissing him, Greg turned his attention to Sherlock’s throat, nipping and sucking at the pale skin.

“I have plans,” Sherlock gasped above him, “Plans that you’re wearing too much clothing for.”

With that, he untangled himself from Greg’s embrace and straddled the DI’s thighs. As Sherlock began undoing Greg’s shirt buttons, Greg reached down and gave the detective’s cock a slow stroke, rubbing his thumb over the glands.

Sherlock shuddered hard above him and bit his lip, but determinedly kept unbuttoning Greg’s shirt. Smirking evilly, Greg began cupping Sherlock’s balls with his other hand as the detective began to work on his belt. Sherlock’s hands started to fumble as Greg kept up his ministrations.

“Greg, G-Greg st-stop. I- I” Sherlock gasped, his fingers clutching at the waist band of Greg’s trousers, undressing the DI momentarily forgotten. “I-I have _plans.”_ Sherlock ended on a squeal as Greg lightly tugged on his testicles.

Deciding to take pity on him, Greg slid his hands down to Sherlock’s thighs and gave them a squeeze.

“Alright love, alright,” he whispered soothingly.

Sherlock took some deep, shuddering breaths, head bowed, as he calmed down. Greg slowly stroked his thighs gently, trying to help calm him. Breathing even, Sherlock looked up at him and blinked twice, before his eyes snapped back to their usual razor sharp focus.

“You’re going to pay for that Detective Inspector,” he growled, as he tugged Greg’s trousers and pants down and off in one go. “But,” the detective growled, giving Greg’s thigh a lush lick, “You’re going to enjoy every minute of it.”

Greg let out a moan that quickly turned into a whimper as Sherlock licked his way up his thigh and swiped his tongue over his balls. His hands clutched the blanket below him as the tip of Sherlock’s tongue flicked over the delicate skin of his sack, before Sherlock sucked one of his balls into his mouth and rolled it around in his mouth.

Just as Greg was sure he’d go insane from the light sucks, Sherlock released him with an obscene pop. Greg panted and looked down his body at the smug detective between legs. “Enjoying yourself Greg?” he asked. Greg nodded dazedly and let his head flop back onto the blanket.

His eyes widened when he felt Sherlock’s breath over the tip of cock. That was all the warning he got before warm, slick heat wrapped around him. A strangled cry slipped form Greg’s lips as Sherlock teasingly sucked the tip of his cock. He tossed his head back and gave into the sensations of Sherlock’s lips. Despite his best effort to keep hips still, desperation won out and he began to thrust upward as he tried to get more of that amazing heat around his dick.

Sherlock took pity on him and pulled off, before large hands slid over his hips, pinning them down.  He leaned up and gave Greg a slow, deep kiss. Greg gasped into his mouth and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, the leather watch band dragging over Sherlock’s sweaty shoulder. Their cocks were hot and hard between their bodies, but Sherlock carefully kept his body hovering over Greg’s, not touching. Greg whined in frustration, and tried to pull Sherlock down on top him, anything, for some friction. But the detective merely chuckled and pulled away again.

“Patience Greg, patience,” he murmured.

“Sherlock, please- oh GOD” Greg cried, as Sherlock slid between his legs and gave his cock one long lick, before he swallowed it down.

Greg’s hands immediately slid into Sherlock’s hair, enjoying the way the silky strands slid through his fingers. The detective alternated between deep sucks to his cock and long, playful licks to the underside. When Sherlock began flicking his tongue over the slit of his cock, Greg knew he was lost. He could feel his orgasm building low and warm in his belly. With a groan he planted his knees flat on the ground and spread his legs wider, his back arching with pleasure. He was so, _so_ close. Just a little more and- and-

Suddenly Sherlock pulled off and wrapped his hand around the base of Greg’s cock, stalling his orgasm. Greg let out a gasp of shock and his eyes flew open in shock.

“What- what are you?”

Sherlock smiled at him, a touch of evil in his grin. “I plan to have you come with my cock up your arse and not before, Greg. Deep breaths now.”

Greg groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. Sherlock’s lewd description wasn’t helping the not coming part one bit. Good God he was going to die, wasn’t he.

Eventually his breathing evened out somewhat. He still felt overly warm and tingly, but then Sherlock lay down on top of him and everything was suddenly better.

“All right?” the detective asked, placing little kisses all over Greg’s neck. He could only nod. Sherlock smiled at him and kissed him deeply, his tongue curling around Greg’s. The DI moaned at the contact, his arousal flaring once again.

“What would you like Greg?” Sherlock growled against his mouth. Before Greg could get his lust addled brain to figure out what Sherlock was asking, the detective suddenly sat up and pulled Greg with him. They ended up with Sherlock leaning up against the pillows with Greg straddling him.

Greg gasped against Sherlock’s mouth as the detective began kneading his arse with those fucking huge hands of his. He yelped when Sherlock suddenly ducked down and bit his shoulder, his tongue quickly soothing the bite mark.

“Do you want to ride me, is that it?” the detective snarled in his ear. One of his hands reached under the cushions next to them and began fumbling for something. Greg moaned, he’d never heard Sherlock talk like this before and he _loved_ it. He tried to grind their cocks together, but Sherlock slid an arm around his waist and held him in place. Greg whined in frustration, he was _this_ close to Sherlock’s prick and the bastard was keeping it from him. His whine of frustration turned into a moan of pleasure and one of Sherlock’s lube slicked fingers brushed over his hole.

“Oh god, Sherlock _please._ ” Greg gasped, wrapping his arms around the detective’s shoulders and burying his face in the side of his neck.

“Please what?”

Greg could practically _hear_ the smirk in Sherlock’s voice as he stroked over Greg’s hole, encouraging the muscle to relax.

Greg growled and dug his teeth into Sherlock’s neck, causing the detective to gasp. He pulled back and tangled his hands in Sherlock’s hair, giving it a firm tug. If Sherlock could talk dirty, then so could he. “I want you to _fuck_ me Sherlock. Any way you want, I just want to feel you _in_ me.”

Sherlock’s eyes darkened and he pulled Greg into a scorching kiss, at the same time he carefully slid a finger into him. Right up to the knuckle. Greg let out a muffled wail against Sherlock’s lips, as the detective began slowly pumping his finger in and out. Greg’s head fell back and he let out a cry of pleasure as Sherlock added a second finger. It burned a little, but the pain was quickly over ridden by pleasure. Sherlock licked a wet trail up his neck and nibbled on his ear. “Look at me,” he growled.

Their eyes locked as Sherlock slowly curled his fingers and rubbed over Greg’s prostate. Greg whimpered and dropped his head back again, or at least he tried to. Sherlock’s fingers slid into his hair and kept his head up.

“Eyes on me,” he rumbled, his pupils blown wide with desire.

Greg panted and kept eye contact as best as he could as Sherlock alternated between delicate strokes and frim presses over his gland. Greg couldn’t come like this, but dear God it felt good. Not wanting to have all the fun, Greg slid his hand up Sherlock chest and thumbed lightly over the detective’s nipples, causing the detective to groan with desire. He leaned down and sucked one of the nubs into his mouth, earning him a horse shout form Sherlock. Bearing his teeth he nibbled lightly, making Sherlock let out these short, panting breaths that were delicious to hear.

Suddenly Sherlock’s fingers were in his hair, pulling him off. “Look at me Greg, he gasped, voice rough, “Look at me.”

Greg complied and Sherlock slowly slid a third finger into his body. The expression on Greg’s face must have been a sight to see since Sherlock looked mesmerized by him.

“God, you’re beautiful,” the detective gasped out, slowly working his fingers in and out of Greg’s body.

Despite the fact that Sherlock had three fingers up his arse and the two of them were practically shaking with want, Greg still found himself blushing at the complement. No one had ever called him beautiful before. Sherlock’s expression softened and he kissed Greg, slow and sweet, “I’m going to fuck you now. Nice and slow, like I promised.”

Greg shivered and nodded. Sherlock pulled his fingers out and gently pushed Greg back onto the blanket. Sliding between Greg’s legs, he tucked a pillow under his hips and grabbed the bottle of lube, quickly slicking his cock. Greg wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist and encouraged Sherlock to drape his body over his, Greg’s mind was hazy with lust.

Slowly and carefully Sherlock slid into him until he was fully sheathed. The two men moaned in unison and Greg tossed his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, pulling him closer. God he felt full, but thanks to Sherlock careful preparation it barley stung at all. Sherlock hooked his hands under Greg’s knees and hitched his legs higher around his waist, causing Greg to moan as Sherlock’s cock went deeper.

“God that’s good,” Sherlock growled out, his eyes fluttering with pleasure. Jesus Christ, Greg had thought Sherlock’s voice was sexy before, but hearing it gruff with pleasure, while he was balls deep in him made it about a million times hotter. Sherlock’s eyes locked onto Greg’s face.

“Alright?” his lover gasped out, face red and sweat gathering at his temples. Greg nodded and wiggled his hips a little.

“Move please. I-I need you to move.”

Sherlock shivered above him, dug his knees into the rug below and pulled out until just the tip of his cock was inside of Greg. With grunt he pushed in all the way again, sinfully slow. Greg shivered, his back arching as he felt Sherlock’s cock glide into him, filling him deliciously. He’d forgotten how good being fucked felt. The detective thrust slowly in and out a few times, as if he was getting used to the sensation.

“Ju- Just angle y-your hips up a little and- and,” Greg gasped out.

Sherlock adjusted his angle and slid in again, slowly. He was close but, “Just a little to the- oh - _oh!_ ” Greg cried out. Sherlock had found his prostate alright, judging from the stars dancing across Greg vision. Sherlock blinked at him a little, eyes wide in fascination, before he repeated the motion carefully. Much to Greg’s joy, he hit that spot inside him again pulling another moan from the DI.

Once Sherlock found that angle that made Greg wail, he kept the rhythm slow and sensuous until they were both shaking with the intensity of it. Greg wrapped his arms around his detective and rocked in time with Sherlock’s thrusts. His cock dragged against Sherlock’s stomach, not enough to get him off, but enough to edge his pleasure even higher.

Time lost all meaning as they moved together. Greg had no idea how long they’d been at it. All he knew was that his mind was and body were drenched in pleasure and he didn’t think he’d been this hard in his life. Sherlock didn’t seem to be fearing much better. The detective’s hands were like steel bands around Greg’s thighs and he let out a delicious gasp every time he slid into Greg’s body.

“Sherlock please. I- I need,” Greg gasped. He dug his fingernails into the detective’s shoulders as Sherlock sucked a bruise into his shoulder.

“Want me to touch you?” he panted, pulling back to look at Greg. The DI could only nod. God he needed it.

“Can’t you come like this?” Sherlock whispered, dragging his teeth down the length of Greg’s neck. Greg shook his head.

“Never have- _hng_ \- before…

“You will.” Sherlock hissed, lips at Greg’s ear. Oh _no_ , Greg thought wildly, he couldn’t. It would be too much, he’d die, surely, he’d he’d-

His train of thought was cut off as Sherlock released one of his legs and wrapped his hand around Greg’s cock. Greg threw back his head and keened, as Sherlock hand slowly stroked him from root to tip, his movements slow and steady to match the way he thrust in and out of Greg’s body.

“Not today,” the detective growled in his ear, “Not today, but one day I’ll lay you out below me and tease you and lick you and _fuck_ you, until you come all over yourself from just my cock alone.”

Greg's breath hitched at the filth being whispered to him, Sherlock chuckled and licked the shell of his ear. He tightened his grip on Greg’s cock and began dragging his thumb over the slit on the up stroke. Greg gasped and turned his head for a kiss. He was so, so close. Sherlock licked his way into his mouth, the kiss slow and filthy to match everything else that had happened that night.

“Maybe I’ll even tie you down,” he hissed, pulling back to stare into Greg’s eyes, “Would you like that Greg? Being bound to my bed while I tease you and _torment_ you?”

Greg whimpered and nodded, good god. Sherlock rolled his hips harder, causing Greg to cry out. He leaned in close again and hissed, “You know I’m a man who keeps his promises.”

That was it, one more pull to Greg’s cock and an almost simultaneous thrust against his prostate had Greg rocketing over the edge. His eyes rolled back in his head and his back arched sharply as his came, ropes of white painting his stomach. Sherlock kept rolling slowly into him throughout, making Greg writhe. A few more thrusts and he felt Sherlock tense above him, then the warmth of Sherlock’s release as it filled him.

With a satisfied sigh, Sherlock released Greg’s cock and flopped on top him, his cock still inside. Greg let out a sigh of his own and wrapped Sherlock in hug, not caring how sticky he was.

“That,” he gasped, “Was fucking incredible. And you,” he pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s hair, “are fucking amazing.”

Sherlock chuckled and pulled out of Greg, wincing slightly, then rolled off so he could pillow his head on Greg’s shoulder. Greg shivered as he felt Sherlock’s come leak out of him. “I’ll take it this will be a repeated occurrence?” he teased, pressing a kiss to the underside of Greg’s jaw. Greg laughed and gave him a squeeze.

“Most defiantly.”

They lay quietly for a few moments, coming back down from the high. “Those websites were right,” Sherlock piped up, his finger tracing patterns on Greg’s arm.

“Websites?” Greg asked, folding one arm under his head.

Sherlock propped his chin on Greg’s chest and gave him a sunny smile, “I may or may not have done some research into prostate stimulation. I trust it was satisfactory?” There was a teasing gleam in his eye.

“A bit more than satisfactory I think.” Greg said, with a grin.

“Just a bit?” Sherlock asked with a fake pout.

The two of them looked at each other a moment before bursting into laughter. Still laughing Greg leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips. The kiss wasn’t very coordinated as they were both giggling, but that made it all the more sweet.

Greg pulled back and let his head flop back onto the blanket, he idly ran a hand down his stomach and winced when it trailed over dry come. “Just gonna grab a flannel,” he said, trying to gently shift Sherlock’s head from his chest.

“I’ve got it covered, one moment,” he rolled away and rifled under the pillows. Greg watched him, brow furrowed, until Sherlock pulled a bottle of water and flannel from under the cushions.

“Thought of everything haven’t you?” he said fondly, brushing Sherlock’s chin with his thumb. Sherlock gave him smile and wetted the flannel before swiping Greg’s stomach clean.

“Genus, remember?” he murmured. Gently he reached between Greg’s legs and wiped his thighs, “Could you lift your legs?”

Greg complied, smiling at how gentle Sherlock was being. He winced a little as Sherlock wetted a corner of the cloth and wiped over his hole.

“It looks a little red. Does it hurt?” Sherlock asked, peering up at Greg with concerned eyes.

Greg smiled at him, “It’s fine love, a little sore, but nothing out of the ordinary.”

Sherlock nodded, and crawled up Greg’s body for another kiss.

“We should head to bed,” Greg mumbled. He felt sleepy now that he was clean and had come down from his orgasm.

“What time is it?” Sherlock asked, lying down on next to Greg. Remembering his new watch, Greg checked to see if it was set.

“12:04,” he yawned.

Sherlock grumbled something sleepily and pulled Greg against chest, curling his arms around him. “Let’s stay here a moment yes?”

Greg nodded, pillowing his head against Sherlock’s chest. He knew his back would kill him in the morning, but he was too stated and sleepy to care.

“Good night love,” he murmured.

Sherlock shifted below him, and although sleep was pulling Greg under, he swore he heard Sherlock whisper that he loved him too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you want details about the watch Greg gets, here's the link: http://www.cartier.com/collections/watches/mens-watches/rotonde-de-cartier/w1556205-rotonde-de-cartier-astrotourbillon-watch.html#details
> 
> I had to email a representative of the store to find out the price. It's £102,000
> 
> I going to assume there are Cartier stores in London, if not let's just assume Sherlock bought it online ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. Greg gets a confession and an explanation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second half of this chapter was a bit of a struggle to write. I hope you all enjoy it!

Greg woke up to the throbbing of his back and the sound of rain. He and Sherlock were still in the pillow nest in the living room and watery sunlight was leaking through the windows of Baker Street. Greg yawned and scrubbed a hand over his face, before looking down at the consulting detective in his arms. At some point during the night he and Sherlock had rearranged themselves so Sherlock was lying with his head on Greg’s chest and his arms twined around him. One of Greg’ arms was curled around Sherlock’s shoulders.

He smiled as he looked down at the man in his arms. Although he would never admit it to Sherlock, under fear of dismemberment, the detective looked quite cute when he was asleep. Still smiling Greg gently ran his hand through Sherlock’s curls. The detective sighed quietly and cuddled closer to him, snuffling softly. Greg felt his heart melt a little, Sherlock was fucking adorable like this. His smile only widened when he realized the detective had a rose petal stuck to one of his arse cheeks. Greg suddenly wished he had his phone to take a picture.

As his eyes travelled down Sherlock’s body, the smile slowly melted off Greg’s face as they traced over the scars. Pink and slivered stripes covered the detective’s back from shoulder blade to lower back. A whip. He’d been fucking captured and whipped and Greg couldn’t have done anything about it. While he’d been busy worrying over his job and his ex, Sherlock was enduring torture. Fucking torture. Greg felt his throat tighten as he looked at the evidence of his lover’s suffering. God, how had it been done?

His mind was suddenly filled with the image of Sherlock tied down and bleeding while a shadowy figure lurked behind him, welding a wicked whip. Greg swallowed and pulled his detective tighter against him, careful to not to touch the scars. He wondered if he’d ever be allowed to touch them. Not being allowed didn’t bother Greg, his detective’s comfort was paramount. If Sherlock never wanted them touched then he never would. What bothered Greg was what his lover had had to endure, and the physical and psychological scars it had left behind.

Unable to help himself, he ducked his head and pressed a firm kiss to Sherlock’s hair. Not wanting to stop, he shimmed down on the blanket so could press little kisses to Sherlock’s eyelids, nose, cheeks and finally the gentlest of kisses to his lips. Sherlock began smiling under his lips, apparently all Greg’s shimming had woken him.

“Getting sentimental old man?” Sherlock mumbled against Greg’s lips, his eyes still shut.

Greg buried his face in Sherlock’s neck, arms tight around Sherlock’s waist. “Shut it,” he grumbled, his lips dragging against the detective’s skin. Sherlock nuzzled his face into Greg’s hair and let out a sigh of contentment.

“Last night was amazing.” Sherlock rumbled, one hand carding gently through Greg’s hair, while his cheek rubbed against the top of his head.

“Yes it was,” Greg replied, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock was rubbing strands of Greg’s hair between his fingers now. He seemed oddly fixated on Greg’s hair this morning, and the DI was thankful he’d washed it before he came over yesterday. “Are you still sore?”

“Just a little, but pleasantly so.” Greg smiled as memories from last night danced across his mind. “Thank you for last night Sherlock. It was incredible,” Greg said, tilting his head up to peer at the detective, “and the watch is amazing.”

Sherlock smiled down at him, “You deserve it, Greg. All of it. The romance, the gifts. Everything.” One of Sherlock’s large hands slid under Greg’s jaw and cradled it. “My everything,” the detective whispered, his eyes sparkling, before he leaned down and kissed Greg deeply.

The kiss was warm and a little sour, but very sweet. Greg kissed back eagerly, his thumbs stroking the skin of Sherlock’s hips. Sherlock’s hands carded obsessively through his hair, tugging lightly on it as his tongue explored Greg’s mouth. When they parted both men were smiling. Sherlock’s hands were still busy in Greg’s hair. Playfully, Greg butted his head up against Sherlock’s hand.

“Having a nice pet are we?” he teased.

Sherlock smiled at him, still stroking Greg’s hair. “Your hair is a lovely colour,” he said, “I remember what it looked like when we first met.”

Greg hummed contentedly, “Do you?”

Sherlock gave him a look, “Of course I do. At first I didn’t find it interesting, it was just brown like mine. Then it started going grey and things got _interesting_.”

“Well I’m glad my stress made you so interested,” Greg grumbled with a grin.  Sherlock continued as if he hadn’t heard him.

“I remember when you went grey at the temples. I thought you were so sexy.”

“Thought?” Greg cut in, in mock offence.

“ _Then”,_ Sherlock ploughed on, giving him a look,“the grey kept spreading and spreading. I remember the day you went completely grey.” Sherlock chuckled, his eyes distant, “I was so distracted that day, and you kept touching it, looking so self-conscious. It was all I could do to stop myself from walking over and telling you exactly how sexy your hair made you look.”

Greg let out a soft laugh, “Do you really like it that much?”

“Oh _yes._ ” Sherlock pulled him up so they were nose to nose, “I _love_ it. It makes you look so rugged.”

Greg felt his eyebrow climb up his forehead, “ _Rugged?_ ” he said, trying to stifle his giggles.

Sherlock just raised an imperious eyebrow, looking decidedly unimpressed.

“I remember how much I hated my hair back then. I even dyed it.”

Sherlock frowned at him, “I remember. It was _awful.”_

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad!” Greg said, giving his shoulder a playful smack.

“Thank god it’s o- Greg!” Sherlock squealed, as Greg dug his fingers into Sherlock’s sides and began tickling him.

“G-greg st-stop!” Sherlock shrieked, struggling to pull away from Greg’s merciless fingers. Greg grinned and tickled him harder.

Suddenly Greg found himself flat on his back with his hands pinned on either side of his head, a grinning Sherlock perched on top of him.

“Damn Judo,” Greg grumbled, squirming under Sherlock. The detective just grinned wider and pressed a teasing kiss to the tip of Greg’s nose. Greg huffed and rolled his eyes, as Sherlock leaned down to kiss him. Leaning over him, the detective lost his balance slightly and Greg saw his chance. Planting his feet he shoved upward and rolled over, dumping Sherlock onto his back and hurriedly crawling on top of him.

“So much for Judo, huh?” Greg teased, before kissing him soundly. Sherlock’s arms wound around him as they kissed, his lips licking along the seam of Greg’s encouraging them to part for him. As if Greg needed encouragement. Their tongues curled together slowly, and Sherlock moaned as Greg’s tongue teased the sensitive area where his gums met his teeth.

Greg pulled away and slowly kissed his way down Sherlock’s neck, nibbling on the sensitive spots. “God you’re gorgeous,” he said against Sherlock’s shoulder. The detective arched and sighed. Greg smiled against his skin as he kissed lovingly down the slope of Sherlock’s shoulder.

“What was the first thing you noticed about me?” the detective asked breathlessly. He spread his legs, giving Greg room to settle between them. Greg could see the detective was already half hard, and he could feel he was almost there himself.

“Hum, the first thing I noticed about you. Let me think…” Greg said, kissing across Sherlock chest. The detective let out a gasp as he licked over a nipple.

“The first thing….”

Sherlock yelped as Greg’s teeth scraped over his nipple.

“I noticed…”

Another yelp as the other nipple was given a lavish lick and a bite.

“About you…”

Sherlock moaned and shivered as Greg blew lightly over the sensitive buds.

“Was-s…” He dragged his teeth down Sherlock’s quavering stomach as the detective panted heavily.

“Your eyes.” He finished, nipping Sherlock’s navel and making him squeak.

“My- my eyes?” Sherlock asked, blinking up at where Greg was crouched over him. Greg nodded and smiled. He ducked down to press delicate kisses to the crease where Sherlock’s thigh met his groin. Sherlock gasped softly. “H-how did you….I was…you…” his words trailed off as Greg lips got closer and closer to his cock.

“They were so _vivid_ ,” Greg whispered. He left off kissing Sherlock’s pelvis and swept upward to kiss his lips. “Even from across the crime scene I remember being struck by them.”

“Really?” Sherlock asked, voice small. His eyes were wide as they looked at Greg, a tiny, shy smile on his lips. Greg couldn’t help but kiss him again.

“Yes. They’re so beautiful Sherlock,” another kiss, “I remember when I walked up to you and saw them properly, and the sheer _intelligence_ behind them,” another kiss, “I realised I was in serious, _serious_ trouble.”

“Did you now?” the detective said coyly, as he curled his legs around Greg’s waist. Greg smiled at him and kissed him again. He hooked his hands under the Sherlock’s knees and spread the detective’s legs wider, turning his head to cover his thigh in kisses. Sherlock gasped as Greg slid down his body and licked the delicate hollow above his hip bone.

“You’re perfect Sherlock, simply perfect,” Greg growled, biting one jutting hip bone. Sherlock sighed and squirmed underneath him. Greg’s hands glided up Sherlock’s torso and began lightly thumbing his nipples, causing the detective to cry out. They were still sensitive from their earlier treatment. Smiling, Greg placed a soft kiss to the tip of Sherlock’s cock, pulling a low moan from him.

“Oh yes,” Sherlock sighed, his head falling back onto the blanket and his legs curling over Greg’s shoulders.

Greg pointed his tongue and flicked it over the slit. Sherlock’s legs jerked and he inhaled sharply.

“Do- do that again,” he gasped out, his hand sliding into Greg’s hair.

Greg grinned and complied, flicking the tip of his tongue quickly and lightly over the slit of Sherlock’s cock until the detective was twisting in ecstasy below him. Without giving his detective a break, he parted his lips and swallowed as much of Sherlock’s cock as he could in one go.

Sherlock let out a horse shout, his back arching. Greg didn’t think he was as skilled as Sherlock in this act, but he still managed to get half the detective’s cock in his mouth. He wrapped his hand around the rest and lightly stroked as he wiggled his tongue along the underside of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock was clearly having the time of his life, if the noises he was making were anything to go by. God those noises. The detective was whimpering and crying out in a way that made Greg leak onto the blanket below them.

He pulled off with an obscene pop and ran his tongue along the length of Sherlock’s cock, before sucking at the base. Sherlock was swearing a blue streak under him, and his back was arched off the carpet. Gently, Greg unhooked Sherlock’s legs from over his shoulders and spread them on the rug below. He licked the length of Sherlock’s cock again, before blowing a stream of cool air over the wet skin. Sherlock swore violently and bucked under him.

“Oh God, Greg-

His words were cut off as Greg applied his lips liberally to his glans, sucking and kissing. Sherlock tossed his head from side to side on the blanket. “Please Greg- pl-

Greg swallowed him down again, trying to take as much as he could without gagging. Sherlock gasped, his back bowed in pleasure. Greg began bobbing his head up and down slowly. It had been ages since he’d done this. Relaxing his throat he began moving faster, swirling his tongue around the cock in his mouth. Sherlock’s hands were tight on his shoulders, sharp gasps escaping his lips. Greg hummed around his mouthful and tried to take Sherlock deeper, his eyes tearing up as he gaged a bit.

Suddenly Sherlock’s hands were tugging on his shoulders. “G-Greg, I’m going to- going to-

Greg simply sucked harder and swirled his tongue faster. He decided Sherlock needed more. One hand slid down and between Sherlock’s cheeks and lightly circled over his entrance. Sherlock _screamed_ above him and come jetted into Greg’s mouth. He kept on sucking lightly until Sherlock was pulling him off and up into his arms, shaking with aftershocks. Greg swallowed and coughed.

“God, I love you.” Sherlock panted, sweaty arms wrapped around Greg’s shoulders. Greg grinned, he knew Sherlock loved him (my everything and all that) but hearing the actual words was lovely. Even if they were said post blow job.

“I love you too.” Greg croaked.

Sherlock moaned softly, “My god you’re hoarse from it,” he rolled them over till he was propped above Greg. “You’re horse from sucking my cock. That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.”

Greg gave him a weak smile. His cock was painfully hard between their bodies and he was hoping Sherlock would do something about it. Sherlock, being Sherlock, noticed his discomfort immediately. “Don’t worry Greg, I’ll take care of you,” he rumbled, kissing him deeply. Greg moaned into the kiss and thrust his cock against Sherlock hip. Sherlock slid a hand between their bodies and wrapped his long, violinist fingers around it. Greg gasped and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist as the detective began to stroke him.

“I love you,” Sherlock hissed in his ear, his clever fingers doing wonderful things between Greg’s legs. He whimpered and buried his face in Sherlock’s neck. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” the detective continued, as he worked Greg closer and closer to orgasm.

“Greg, look at me,” Sherlock whispered, nuzzling his cheek. Blurrily Greg looked at him. Sherlock’s eyes were bright with love as he stared at Greg. “I love you,” he whispered, and with one last tug to Greg’s cock Greg came, the world disappearing as pleasure washed over him.

When he came back down, Sherlock was lovingly running his clean hand through Greg’s hair. “Alright?” he asked, smiling down at him.

“Say it again?” Greg whispered, holding Sherlock close. He needed to hear it, just one more time without a haze of lust clouding the words. Sherlock’s smile became terribly fond and he placed a delicate kiss to Greg’s lips.

“I love you.” Sherlock said, eyes locked onto Greg’s.

Greg couldn’t help the goofy smile that crossed his face. “I love you too,” he replied.

Sherlock kissed him again, before turning them on their sides and pulling Greg close against his chest. Not caring about the sticky mess between them, Greg curled close to his detective and was content.

 

**********

 

Greg yawned and stretched as he stood at the stove, in yesterday’s clothes, frying eggs. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table behind him, checking his blog for any interesting cases.

They had gotten out of the pillow nest a while ago and had a shower. Together. It was the first time Greg had ever showered with a man and it had been fun, although nothing sexy had happened. He wasn’t that young, and Sherlock hadn’t been in the mood for anything more than just getting him clean. It had still been great though. Washing someone else was a terribly intimate thing, sex or no sex.

Now Greg stood at the stove, smelling of Sherlock’s soap and over-priced shampoo and cooking for his detective. The eggs finished, he plated them and retrieved the toast from the toaster before depositing the entire thing in front of Sherlock.

The detective hummed his thanks and absently took a bite of toast, eyes still glued to his phone.

“So what’re your plans for the day?” Greg asked, tucking into to his own breakfast. Sherlock’s eyes scanned his screen for a few more moments before he answered.

“Well, I have a lead to follow up on for a case. Nothing terribly exciting, just following a suspect, but needs must,” he sighed dramatically.

Greg chuckled, “A four then?”

“No, more of a six with the potential to turn into a 7, depends on what I find out today. What about you?”

Greg was suddenly struck by the domesticity of it all. Here he was discussing his plans for the day with his boyfriend, after he’d just made them breakfast. He loved it.

“Well, I have some paper work that Sally sent over that I need to take care of. Then I’m supposed to meet John at the pub later. You’re welcome to join us of course. If your suspect turns out to boring,” Greg said with a grin. Suddenly, a horrific light dawned that made Greg’s grin fade.

“Sherlock,” he said slowly, “Where’s John?” His mind was assaulted with the image of a traumatized John with a huge pair of ear-muffs on, huddled in bed as he tried to block out the sounds Greg and Sherlock made.

Sherlock watched Greg’s horrified face with amusement in his eyes. “Never fear Greg, John spent the night at Mycroft’s. No need to worry about traumatizing him.”

Greg’s shoulders relaxed, and the rest of the meal past with Sherlock giving Greg the details of the man he would be tailing today. After Greg cleared their plates and checked the time on his new watch. He’d have to get going now if he wanted to have enough time to finish some paper work and meet John for drinks. Although he was technically still on leave, he’d asked Sally to send case files for the cases they’d been working on while he was off, so he’d be up to date when he came back.

He was loth to leave Baker Street though, it had come to feel like home over these past weeks. He would have loved to bring his paper work here and take care of it, but it felt too presumptuous. He knew he was welcome at Baker Street, but he also knew Sherlock liked his space.

“Well I’d better get going if I want to get any work done,” he said. Sherlock looked up from his phone with a frown.

“Already?”

“Yeah, it’s later than I thought,” Greg said, scratching the back of his neck.

Sherlock sighed and stood up, “Well, if you must.”

Greg smiled at him, it was nice to know he’d be missed. “Yes, I’m afraid I must,” Greg said, trotting into the living room to get his coat, “come tell me good-bye.”

Sherlock stretched and followed him. He helped Greg into his coat, smoothing his hands down Greg’s arms. Greg leaned up slightly and kissed him, Sherlock hummed against his lips and kissed back. “I love you,” Greg said quietly when they separated.

“I love you too.” Sherlock replied, giving Greg one last peck.

“Be careful on your case ok? Call me or John if the man turns out to be an axe murderer or something.”

“If only,” Sherlock said with a sly grin, before pulling Greg in for another a kiss. Greg enjoyed it for a few moments before he gentled pulled Sherlock’s hands from around his neck.

“I _really_ have to go now, love” he said, as he took in the view of Sherlock’s kiss red lips and bright eyes. God, he wished he didn’t have paperwork and Sherlock didn’t have a case. Sherlock sighed and gave him a squeeze before letting go.

“Needs must,” he sighed, “I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll come back here after the pub if you want.”

Sherlock smiled, “Of course.”

With one last peck and a grin Greg headed out of Baker Street.

 

**********

 

“So, how was last night?” John asked, taking a swig of his beer. Greg smiled and took a gulp of his own. It was several hours later and, after completing a mountain of paper work, he’d met John at their favourite watering hole to catch up. Sherlock had texted and said he couldn’t make it. His case had moved up to a seven, but he was safe and Greg should still come over after drinks with John.

“It was great, really _really_ great,” he said with a dirty smile. John’s answering grin was just as dirty.

“Did you like the watch?” John said around a mouthful of chips.

“Yeah. It’s a bit posh, but I really like it.”

“Of, course it’ll be posh, it’s Sherlock,” John deadpanned.

The two men grinned at each other.

“So-o, how are things with Mycroft?” Greg asked, because really, what was the point of these meetings if not to talk about their boyfriends?

“Great, really _really_ great,” John said, imitating him from earlier. Greg rolled his eyes at him, took another swig of beer and decided to ask John something he’d been wondering about for a while.

“How did you two get together? I mean I always thought you just knew Mycroft through Sherlock, but…”  

John smiled at him, “I was wondering when you would ask.”

“Can’t blame a bloke for wondering. I mean Mycroft Holmes is- well, he’s on a different level.”

John chuckled good naturedly, “That he is,” he said, looking into the middle distance with a soft smile on his face. “Do you really want to know? It’s not that interesting a story.”

Greg smiled sheepishly, “I’m curious is all, of course you don’t have to tell me.” The last thing Greg wanted to do was make John feel uncomfortable.

John smiled at him, “No, no it’s fine. It’s not like it’s a secret or anything.”

He took a deep breath and began.

“Well, at first our only connection was Sherlock, but even from the first time I saw Mycroft, there was something about him. Some kind of - I don’t really know how to put it into words - but just this sort of pull you know?”

Greg nodded, he’d felt the same way the first time he’d met Sherlock. Those eyes….

“I mean I never acted on it. We barely saw each other and Sherlock had warned me off, saying Mycroft was dangerous and untrustworthy. So, the feelings went away or I supressed them, or what have you. This went on for years. Then,” John took a deep breath and blew it out harshly through his mouth, “Then everything with Mary happened…”

Greg winced. Mary Morstan was the one person Greg could say he well and truly hated. She’d fucked John over in every possible way and she’d _shot_ Sherlock. John looked at him with a wry smile, his eyes tired. Even after everything, talking about Mary still hurt him. Greg gave his shoulder a squeeze, knowing John wouldn’t appreciate any overt displays of affection in public. Taking a fortifying breath the army doctor continued.

“The first time I really saw Mycroft as more than Sherlock’s older brother was that night in the hospital. When you know- when-

Greg nodded again, he didn’t want to make John say it. He couldn’t even think about Sherlock being shot without feeling cold all over. John swallowed and took a gulp of his beer. “I was in Sherlock’s room that night, when he was still unconscious, and Mycroft came in. He didn’t say anything, he just came into the room, leaned over the bed and stared at Sherlock for a long time. Then he sat on the couch next to the bed with me and well-

John voice trailed off again. Clearly something had happened that night that he didn’t want to talk about and Greg was not about to pressure him. He nodded to show John he understood. John gave him a grateful look and ploughed ahead.

“After that night I started seeing him as more than just Sherlock’s old brother and the British government. I started to see him as a person. You know?” he turned to Greg with a warm expression in his eyes. Greg recognized that look. He’d seen Sherlock look at him like that.

“Yeah I get it. Something similar happened with me and Sherlock,” Greg looked at John, uncertain if he should continue, or if John thought he was interrupting. John gave him a small smile and nodded at him to carry on.

“It was after a case involving illegal dog fighting, when Sherlock had just started working with us.  We’d caught the men behind it at their warehouse, and there were all these dogs stuffed into cages, underfed and terrified out of their minds. It was awful.” Greg shook his head at the memory, “I remember Sherlock’s face when he saw. He went white and just turned tail and fled. When I found him again he was alright, back to usual self, but in that moment, from that expression, I realised that there was a man behind the machine. There was more to him than just the power house detective.”

John nodded in agreement. “That’s just how it was with Mycroft that night in the hospital. After that night something changed, I don’t what it was, but Mycroft just kept crossing my mind. It wasn’t even in relation to Sherlock, but I found myself wondering what he was doing and if he was ok. It was…weird. Especially since I hadn’t thought about him like that before,” John said, smiling softly.

Greg couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. John’s expression was just so endearing. John caught him smiling and made a face. “God, I’m an old fool aren’t I?”

“Of course not!” Greg said, “Why would say that?”

John groaned and dropped his head onto his folded arms, “I’m just so...so…and at my age-

Greg laughed and patted John on the shoulder, “There’s no age when you stop you know.”

John just groaned into his arms again.

“So after the hospital, what happened then?” Greg asked, trying to get John back on track. John sat up and rubbed a hand over face. Taking another gulp of beer, he continued.

“One night, when I was back at Baker Street taking care of Sherlock, I texted Mycroft to come over. Sherlock was having a bad night and I was feeling over whelmed so I called him-

“God, John. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.” Greg cut in, feeling sick at thought of Sherlock in so much pain and his friend being all alone with him. He’d been such a fucking idiot.

“It’s fine Greg, really,” John said reassuringly, squeezing his arm, “You were out of town on a case then. Otherwise I would have called.”

Greg swallowed and nodded. This wasn’t about him, it was about John telling his story. Squeezing his arm once more, John continued.

“When he came over he was so- so gentle. He calmed me down, gave Sherlock his morphine and sat with him. Then when Sherlock fell asleep he came to sit with me.” John smiled at the memory. “I thought it would be awkward, we’d never really spoken before, but it wasn’t. Mycroft made the usual small talk, and then we just sat there for a while in silence. Then he sent me to bed. I remember thinking how grateful I was for him when I was falling asleep.”

Greg was thoroughly engrossed in the story now. “What happened next?”

John gave him a smile, “The gifts.”

“Gifts?” Greg’s mind was suddenly filled with images of Mycroft’s minions presenting John with a bar of gold on a silver tray. Shaking the image out of his head, he turned his attention back to John.

“He sent me a new comforter set.”

Well, that had been that last thing Greg had been expecting. “A comforter set?” he asked with a chuckle.

John nodded and smiled. “That’s Mycroft for you, very practical in his gift giving. There was a note with it that explained how my posture revealed I needed a warmer blanket since my old one wasn’t keeping me warm enough.”

Greg laughed along with John as he looked down at the watch Sherlock had given him. He could see that the two brothers defiantly differed in their approach to gift giving. Though the thought of Mycroft wanting to keep John warm was oddly sweet.

“From there, things just progressed. He started coming over more and I started realizing just how good he looked in those three piece suits. The gifts kept coming. They were little things, but nice things, like my favourite tea, or my favourite take away magically appearing at the flat. Eventually I realized I had to take him on a proper date.” He turned to look at Greg, his eyes very warm. “And well, this part is a bit embarrassing.”

Greg raised his eyebrows and waited.

“Well- it was you and Sherlock that gave me the push to actually ask him out. When I saw how well you two were doing and how much Sherlock liked you, well I decided I try at my own Holmes too.”

A huge smile covered Greg’s face at the revilation, John made a face at him and took a drink of beer. “And now here we are,” he said, putting his glass down with a thump,” he turned to Greg, “and I couldn’t be happier.”

“Neither could I, John, neither could I.”

The two men clinked their glasses together and shared a knowing smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the Mycroft/ John explanation was good enough. I think John is the type of man who wouldn't feel comfortable sharing too many details of his relationship, even if it is Greg. That's why not too much detail about certain events was given, and no smutty details were shared. Though maybe in future chapters they'll be alluded too. Our John has a bit of a dirty sense of humor after all. ;)
> 
> Reviews are love!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rimming, also Greg and John are shocked quite a lot in the third part of the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one is a bit shorter than the others, but a filler chapter was necessary at this point in the story.
> 
> Unbetaed so all mistakes are mine. Please (gently) point out any you see.

“Oh God, _Greg_!” Sherlock mewled as Greg worked his tongue around his entrance. Greg slowed the swirling of his tongue, causing Sherlock to whimper and clutch at a pillow. The detective was on his hands and knees on Sherlock’s bed, his pale body shaking and covered in a sheen of sweat. Greg was in the same state, except his face was buried in Sherlock’s delectable arse.

Greg relished Sherlock’s cries as he flicked the tip of his tongue lightly over Sherlock’s hole. His hands squeezed and grouped the plush globes of Sherlock’s arse, holding him open for his tongue. Sherlock panted brokenly as Greg’s tongue flicked lightly and evilly over his entrance, driving him wild.

“Greg pluh- plea- please! I- ah!” Sherlock’s words were cut off with a yelp as Greg liked from his balls all the way up the cleft of arse. Greg pulled back and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s right arse cheek.

“Please what love?” he teased, nibbling at the skin under his lips.

“Touch me. Please touch me,” the detective gasped. Greg wished he could see Sherlock’s face. He looked absolutely gorgeous when he was desperate, cheeks pink and eyes wide.

“All in good time love, all in good time.” Greg growled, before he dove back in.

Parting Sherlock’s cheeks again, he took a moment to admire the little wet hole in front of him, smiling as Sherlock tried to thrust back against his face. Greg decided he needed to tease him just a little more before they both came. Sticking his tongue out, he dragged it very lightly and very slowly over Sherlock’s entrance, earning a muffled grunt form the man in front of him. Pulling back, he blew a thin stream of air over the wet skin. Sherlock gasped and squirmed, trying to pull away, but Greg held him still and did it again and again, until Sherlock was twisting beneath his hands.

“Greg! Have mercy!” the detective cried, a bit of laughter in his voice. Greg knew that what he was doing felt great, but also tickled a bit, so the laughter didn’t bother him.

“And what would mercy be, hum?”

“I- I-

“Come on Sherlock, you have to ask to get what you want” Greg said, licking him teasingly between words.

“Touch me, suck me, anything. Anything!”

“Anything? What if I want to keep doing this until we see if you can come this way?”

Sherlock whimpered and buried his face in a pillow. Greg smiled fondly down at him and reached into the side-table draw for the lube. “Lucky for you I’m in a desperate state myself, so I guess we’ll have to leave that experiment for another day.”

Sherlock nodded franticly against the pillow and wiggled his arse at Greg. Greg squirted a large dollop of lube into his palm, and tapped Sherlock’s hip with the other. “Elbows and knees love. I think you’re going to like this.”

Sherlock huffed, but pushed himself into position anyway, his head hanging low. Greg smiled at the desperate picture his boyfriend made, before he spread the detective’s cheeks again and spread lube over the entire length of his crack. Sherlock squeaked and craned his neck to look over his shoulder at Greg. “What-what are you…”

“Don’t worry love, you’re gonna love this.” Greg said, grinning at him lasciviously. Without giving him a chance to reply, he slid he cock between the detective’s cheeks. His hands pressed Sherlock’s arse cheeks together, creating more friction as he began thrusting.

Sherlock cried out in pleasure, his back arching as Greg’s cock dragged over his sensitive hole. Greg tossed his head back and moaned himself. God this felt good! His thrusts got harder and harder until the bed was creaking below them. Sherlock had the sheets below him in a death grip and sweat running down his back. As Greg watched one of his hands released the sheet and slid down his body, grabbing his cock. With a throaty moan Sherlock began to fist himself in time with Greg’s thrusts.

“Fuck yeah, that’s it,” Greg growled, “Touch yourself. Let me see you come.”

Sherlock moaned beneath him as Greg rolled his hips. His hand worked faster between his legs, his breaths getting higher and higher in pitch as his orgasm approached. Greg groaned and moved his hips faster, his hands gripping Sherlock’s arse harder. Suddenly the detective let out a sharp gasp and his entire body began shuddering under Greg’s as he came. Greg could just imagine the way he looked, his eyes squeezed shut and his beautiful mouth slack with pleasure. Sherlock’s body slumped below him, little aftershocks racking his body as Greg kept thrusting, chasing his own release. The picture of Sherlock’s blissed out face firmly in his mind, he felt his pleasure crest and his eyes rolled back in his head as he came.

With a satisfied sigh he slumped down onto Sherlock, making the detective grunt. “You’re heavy,” the detective grumbled, wiggling under him. Greg grinned and rolled them onto their sides, his chest pressed against Sherlock’s back. The two of them lay there for a few moments, basking in the afterglow. Greg pressed tiny kisses to the back of Sherlock’s neck as the detective stroked his arms played with his fingers.

As the afterglow faded, the stickiness of the situation set in. Sherlock squirmed against him and winced, “As pleasurable as that was, I think I need a flannel now.”

Greg gave his waist a squeeze, “Be right back,” he said, as he hopped out of bed to get the requested flannel. Returning with flannel in hand, he gave Sherlock’s stomach a swipe, before encouraging him onto his stomach to get the worst of his come and lube off. As he gently cleaned Sherlock’s thighs and arse his eyes once again caught on the scars marring the detective’s back. He suddenly realised just how tightly he’d been pressed against Sherlock’s back a few moments ago. His stomach twisted, he knew how much Sherlock didn’t like his scars being touched, or even talked about.

“Jesus, Sherlock. I’m sorry.” Greg said, swiping the last of the mess off of Sherlock’s skin. Sherlock raised his head from where it had been pillowed in his arms and looked over his shoulder at Greg.

“For what?” he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“For- well- for just now, when I was pressed against you. I-I know how much you don’t like having them touched and I-

“It’ fine Greg, really,” Sherlock said, burying his head in his arms again. Greg bit his lip, feeling uncertain. Sherlock said it was alright, but still…. Suddenly he felt himself being pulled into Sherlock’s arms. The detective had rolled onto his back and was now tugging Greg on top of him. As he settled Greg onto him, he pulled the DI’s head onto his chest and ran his fingers through his hair.

“It’s okay, Greg. You know if I was uncomfortable I would have said.”

Greg nodded, “I know. I just had to make sure.”

Sherlock pressed a kiss to the top of his head, “And I love you for that. Pressing up against them like that is alright. It’s touching them with intent that’s uncomfortable. If you were to run your fingers over them I would _hate_ that.”

Greg nodded, “I won’t, don’t worry,” he said, giving Sherlock a squeeze.

“I know.”

The lay in silence for a moment. Greg had something he wanted to ask Sherlock, and was trying to figure out the best way to do it.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable with anyone touching them,” Sherlock said, answering Greg’s unasked question. Greg propped his head on Sherlock’s chest and peered at him.

“I’ve known you for ages and it still shocks me when you do that.”

Sherlock siled softy at him, the way he did only after sex, and carded his fingers leisurely though Greg’s hair. “Maybe with time and experimenting with different types of touch it’ll get better, but I’m not ready to try yet.”

Greg nodded, “Of course. Anything you want to do is fine Sherlock. If you never want them touched I’ll understand completely.”

Sherlock leaned down and pressed a frim kiss to Greg’s lips. “Thank you.”

“It’s what any decent person would say.”

Sherlock hummed and kissed again.

 

**********

 

 

Freshly showered and dressed, the two of them sat on the couch munching on leftovers and watching crap telly. Greg had been back to work for a week now, full duties as usual. He was glad, as relaxing as his leave had been, he’d missed his job.

“You’re interrogating the Barn’s murder suspect tomorrow, aren’t you?” Sherlock asked suddenly.

Greg swallowed and nodded, “Want to sit in on it? Bastard deserves a good scare.”

Sherlock grinned at him, not his usual pleasant smile, but his creepy high-functioning-sociopath-with-too-many-teeth-grin. Greg winced, “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. One of those smiles and he’ll sing like a cannery.”

Sherlock laughed, his scary smile morphing into his real one. “As fun as that sounds, I won’t be able to join you tomorrow…I’m busy…”

The hesitancy of Sherlock’s words peaked Greg’s interest. “What’re you up too tomorrow?”

Sherlock huffed softly and stared intently at his plate. “I’m going to see Mycroft.”

“Oh, does he have a case for you or something?” Greg asked, his curiosity only growing.

“No, no. He wants us to have lunch and _talk_ …” Sherlock said, making ‘talk’ sound like the most disgusting word he’d heard.

Greg chuckled softly, “It won’t be that bad, I’m sure.”

Sherlock gave him a flat look.

“It’ll be beneficial, I’m sure of it,” Greg ploughed on, ignoring his detective’s disbelieving expression. “Besides, you can always leave if it gets to be too much. Then you can come and take it out on Barns.”

That earned him a smile and wry chuckle. “Would you like to go to Angelo’s this evening? He’s added some new dishes to the menu.”

It was an obvious change of subject, but Greg didn’t mind. After what had happened last time, he was wary of pressing matters concerning Mycroft.

“Yeah, I’d love to. I’ll have to go home and get fresh clothes though.” He’d just brought one change of clothes with him when he’d come over yesterday night.

Sherlock hummed in response and stretched, “You should leave some clothes here. That way there’ll be less back and forth, and you won’t have to re-wear clothes when our activities get unexpectedly…. amorous.” he said with a sly smile.

Greg beamed at him. He’d been hoping Sherlock would extend the offer to leave some stuff at Baker Street. It’d certainly make life easier, and make him less late for work in the morning. “Sounds like a good plan to me,” he said.

Sherlock’s smile turned even slyer, “Since you have to get fresh clothes anyway, I won’t feel bad for doing what I’m about to.”

Get put down his cup warily, “and what are you about to-

His words were cut off as Sherlock pounced.

 

**********

 

 

Monday night Greg trotted up the stairs of 221, a spring in his step. Today had gone well, he’d managed to get Barns to confess, without Sherlock and his death grin, and he and Sally had gone out for a celebratory pint afterward. He was looking forward to tonight too, they’d never made it to Angelo’s yesterday so their dinner date had be postponed to tonight. Dinner at Angelo’s was always fun and something about the atmosphere brought out the inner romantic in Sherlock, much to Greg’s delight.

Entering the flat, he saw John seated in his arm chair, laptop in hand and a cup of tea at his elbow.

“Hey Greg,” John said smiling, although he seemed a bit distracted by whatever he was doing.

“New blog entry?”

John nodded, eyes glued to the screen as he diligently typed with two fingers. “Yeah, new entry,” he said, sounding a million miles away. Greg couldn’t help but grin at the way John pecked at the keyboard, there was something terrible endearing about it. He tapped away for a while as Greg flopped onto the couch and made himself comfortable. Sherlock was nowhere in sight, but Greg figured he was probably still getting ready. With a satisfied sigh John clicked a few times on his laptop and then finally tore his eyes away from the screen to focus on Greg. “Sorry about that, just trying to get it all down before I forget the details.”

Greg grinned, “It’s fine. No worries.” He glanced around the flat once more, “Where’s Sherlock?”

“Haven’t seen him all day, but I didn’t come home till late this afternoon. He and Mycroft had lunch together, didn’t they?”

Greg raised his eyebrows, “He’s been out since then? I hope it went well.” The two men shared a look as they imagined how things went between their partners.

As if on cue the downstairs door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the windows of the flat. Greg and John exchanged another look Sherlock stormed up the stairs before he banged through the door to 221B. Without acknowledging Greg or John he tore of his coat and scarf, grumbling under his breath the entire time. Before Greg could say a word, Sherlock dropped onto the couch and buried his face in Greg stomach, curling his body into a foetal position.

John’s eyebrows rose in surprise at Sherlock’s dramatic entrance, Greg shrugged and began gently carding his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. The detective sighed loudly, and a touch melodramatically, as he curled in closer to Greg.

“I take it lunch didn’t go well?” Greg asked quietly. Sherlock huffed against his stomach and Greg could practically feel him roll his eyes. John quietly stood up, gathering his laptop to leave the room.

“You can stay,” Sherlock rumbled. John shot Greg a questioning look. The DI nodded and John sank back down onto his chair.

“What happened Sherlock?” John asked quietly. Sherlock grumbled something against Greg’s belly. Greg could vaguely make out the words ‘Mycroft’, ‘nosey’ and ‘idiot’.

“Want to give us a bit more detail love?”

Sherlock huffed again and rolled onto his back, his head on Greg’s thighs. He adopted his usual thinking pose and his eyes turned inward. Greg and John waited patiently for him to begin. “All in all it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” Sherlock said, much to Greg’s surprise. John’s too, given the look on his face.

“Really?” Greg asked, unable to keep the astonishment out of his voice. Sherlock nodded, eyes still distant.

“We….chatted….” the concept sounded foreign to Sherlock, and Greg saw John smothering a smile.

“You chatted?” he prompted.

“Yes-s, he’s lost five pounds by the way John, good job.”

John looked confused and Greg snickered as his mind went straight to the gutter.

“What has you so upset then?” John asked, choosing to ignore Greg.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, “We played deductions, and things got… uncomfortable…”

Greg sighed, “Again Sherlock?”

Sherlock shook his head, “It wasn’t as unpleasant as last time, and when Mycroft noticed I was uncomfortable he... apologized”

Greg and John’s eyes met, twin expressions of shock on their faces. Sherlock’s own eyes flicked between them briefly before he resumed staring at the ceiling.

“So final consensus?” John asked, after Sherlock had been silent for a while.

Sherlock blinked, looking vaguely confused, “All in all it…wasn’t bad…” he said, as if he couldn’t believe it.

Greg looked at him incredulously, “So you mean to tell me you came home in a strop because you and your brother actually got along?”

Sherlock blinked again, before his cheeks turned pink and burrowed into Greg’s stomach once again. “I was not ‘in a strop’ he said, his words muffled.

Greg chuckled and John rolled his eyes in fond exasperation. He sat back with a huff of “Holmes brothers,” under his breath.

“So it was alright?” Greg asked quietly, brushing Sherlock’s hair off his forehead. Sherlock peered up at him like a tiny animal peeking out of its burrow.

“It’s was fine really. One of the better meetings we had. I’m-I’m glad I went.”

Greg nodded and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s forehead.

“Now that would make an adorable picture for the blog.” John said, chuckling warmly. Sherlock scowled, though there was no real malice behind it, and Greg felt his cheeks warm slightly.

“Don’t you dare, John Watson,” Sherlock growled, though the fact that his words were muffled by Greg’s belly lessened the effect somewhat.

Greg and John looked at each other and promptly burst into laughter. A few moments later and Greg heard Sherlock quietly join in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly at the end, just one more chapter to go!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A question and an experiment.

**6 months later**

Greg shot Sherlock a concerned look across the crime scene. The detective had been short tempered all day. Granted, with Sherlock that wasn’t unusual, the detective was always brisk at crime scenes, but today was worse than usual. Even more confusing was the fact that he kept shooting Greg odd, calculating looks when he thought Greg wasn’t looking.

Something was up and Greg was going to get to the bottom of it.

Things were finally wrapping up on the crime scene, giving Greg a free moment to talk to Sherlock. The detective was standing off to the side, his curls blowing in the low breeze and John at his side.

“Everything alright boys?” Greg asked, interrupting a whispered conversation between the two. Sherlock gave him a small, nervous smile and nodded. John gave the detective an exasperated look and sighed.

“Yeah, everything’s fine Greg. I was just about to leave actually, unless you need any more help?” As he spoke his eyes drifted from Greg’s face to a sleek black car that had pulled up. Greg smiled at him.

“Go on then. We’re pretty much done here. Just packing up.”

John smiled at him, then turned back to Sherlock, “You’ll stay and get a lift home with Greg?” he asked. The question seemed weighted to Greg, as if John was asking an entirely different question than the words he uttered. Sherlock looked between the two of them, panic ever so slightly visible in his eyes. He coughed and nodded again. John gave his arm a squeeze, Greg a smile, and then headed toward the waiting Jaguar.

What the hell? Since when was Sherlock non-verbal?

“You alright Sherlock?” Greg asked, stepping into the detective’s space to peer into his eyes.

“I’m fine. Just meet me back at home alright? I have to- to think.” With that the detective turned on his heel and stalked toward the main road.

Greg looked after him, feeling faintly bewildered. Something was up, he could tell. It didn’t feel like Sherlock was angry or upset though, more like he was nervous about something.

‘Maybe he wants to ask me to marry him’, Greg thought with a laugh to himself. Thoughts of Sherlock on one knee before him had him chuckling quietly as he walked back toward his team.

 

***********

 

Back at Baker Street Greg found Sherlock stretched out on the couch in his customary thinking pose.

“Evening love,” Greg said, rustling Sherlock’s hair gently as he headed for the kitchen. Sherlock didn’t move a muscle. Greg had gotten accustom to this, so usually he wasn’t concerned. After Sherlock’s odd behaviour at the crime scene today though, he was more curious than ever about what was going on in his detective’s head. There was nothing to do about it now, Greg would just have to wait and see.

He trotted into Sherlock’s room and changed into his usual track bottoms and t-shirt, before he headed into the kitchen to heat up some leftovers. Back in the living room he sank into John’s chair, plate in hand, and flipped on the television for company. Sherlock didn’t even twitch.

Greg was almost done with his dinner when Sherlock’s deep rumble caught him off guard. “John’s moving in with Mycroft.”

Swallowing his mouth full of food, Greg turned to him. Sherlock hadn’t moved at all, and Greg wondered for a moment if he’d imagined Sherlock’s voice. The detective opened his eyes a crack and peered at him. So he hadn’t imagined it then.

“That’s nice.” Greg said hesitantly.

Sherlock hummed and shut his eyes again.

“How are we feeling about that?” Greg asked. John moving out in the past had been under not-so-good circumstances; Sherlock dying, then Mary.

Sherlock hummed again, eyes shut and hands still steepled under his chin. Greg was tempted to spout the usual speech about John being his friend and that wouldn’t change no matter how their relationship developed, he knew it would be useless….but, well-

“You know that you’ll still be John’s best friend right? Even when he moves,” he said, unable to resist the urge any longer.

“Obvious. He already told me- very emphatically- that he still wants to come on cases.”

Greg chuckled, “Of course. But you know it’s more than that, don’t you?”

Sherlock hummed again. Greg kept looking at him for a few more moments. When it was clear the conversation was over, he turned back to his dinner.

He had just come back from putting his plate in the sink when Sherlock spoke again.

“There’ll be an empty space in 221b.”

Greg raised an eyebrow and simply stared at him. Sherlock sighed and fell silent again. Greg flopped down on the end of the couch and pulled the detective’s feet onto his lap. That’s when everything clicked.

“A free space you say?”

Sherlock hummed. Greg gave his ankles a squeeze and reached for his book. Sherlock was going to have to outright ask him if he wanted this.

“Would you like me to put an advert for a new flatmate in the papers?” Greg asked sweetly.

Sherlock glared at him.

“Anderson’s wife threw him out again. I’m sure he’d love to stay with you.”

The glare turned deadly. Greg gave him a sunny smile and turned back to his book. Sherlock was silent for a few beats then, “This flat’s closer to the Yard.”

Greg kept his eyes glued to his book, though he couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“The rent is exceptionally low.”

“Because Mrs Hudson is a Saint,” Greg chuckled, finally turning to look at Sherlock.

“You can turn John’s old room into an office.”

“Sounds good to me,” Greg said with a grin. Sherlock’s eyes slid open and a tiny smile appeared on his face.

“You can bring the rest of your things over tomorrow if you want. Mycroft can send people to help pack.”

Greg thought about it for a moment. He had a lot of shit crammed into his apartment. “Better leave it till this weekend love. I have to go through it and see how much I actually want to bring.”

Sherlock hummed and nodded once. Greg gave his ankles another squeeze, as Sherlock’s eyes slid closed once again. The tiny, pleased smile never left his face.

 

 

***********

 

Greg looked at the inside of their new wardrobe with pleasure. His and Sherlock’s suits hung neatly side by side. The rest of Greg’s clothes were packed in the chest of draws. It had taken Greg two weeks to move into the flat fully. This was mostly due to a major development in one of his cases during the first week, and Sherlock’s revelation that there wasn’t enough room in his closet for his and Greg’s things. This lead to a whirlwind furniture shopping trip which resulted in a new wardrobe, chest of draws and a standing mirror for Sherlock’s –no _their_ \- bedroom.

Now Greg was finally moved in and unpacked, and Sherlock was nowhere to be found. With a sigh he shut the cupboard door and rubbed his lower back. His muscles were slightly sore from all the lifting and carrying he done over the weekend. He turned to the bedroom door, and jumped about a mile when he saw Sherlock standing there.

The detective smiled impishly at him and slowly walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. That’s when Greg noticed what was in his hands.

“Is that for an experiment of some kind?” he asked, swallowing to wet his suddenly dry throat.

Sherlock’s smile turned wicked as he ran the piece of thick, black ribbon through his fingertips. “You could say that, yes.” Greg swallowed again and began backing slowly toward the bed as Sherlock crept toward him.

“Do you remember that experiment I said I wanted to conduct on you?”

Greg shook his head, wracking his brain for some idea of what Sherlock was talking about.

“It was the day I gave you the watch,” the detective continued, his eyes flicking to Greg’s wrist where the watch resided.

Greg thought harder, but nothing came to mind. He could remember other details of that night perfectly. The rose petals, the firelight dancing on Sherlock’s skin, the slow bliss of Sherlock entering him, but he couldn’t remember anything about an experiment. Sherlock sighed, though the smile never left his face.

“I promised to make you come without touching your cock. I also promised to have you tied to the bed while I did so.”

 _Holy fuck,_ was all Greg could think as every last drop of blood in his body rushed south. That- that sounded _fantastic._ Swallowing and squaring his shoulders, he gave Sherlock a smile. “How do you want me?”

Sherlock’s answering grin was positively feral.

 

 

*********

 

“God, Sherlock! Please!” Greg gasped, tugging against the ribbon that had him tied to the head bored. He been here God knows how long, and Sherlock was touring him. In the best possible way of course.  Said torturer was currently crouched naked between Greg’s shaking thighs. Two fingers were buried in Greg up to the knuckle, stroking over his prostate, while he sucked a bruise into Greg’s thigh.

“Please what, Greg?” Sherlock asked, licking over the mark he’d left. Greg gasped and tossed his head back at a particularly frim stroke over that little bundle of nerves. Sparks went off behind his eyelids and his entire body arched off the bed. God he was _so_ close. He just needed one stroke to his cock and he’d come. He tugged feebly at his bonds and whimpered, his eyes pleading silently with Sherlock.

The detective ran his free hand through Greg’s hair and gave him a deep kiss, carful to keep his weight off Greg’s cock. “Come on Greg, you can do it,” he purred. His fingers began alternating between dragging directly over Greg’s gland and lightly teasing the edges of it. Greg gasped and shivered. He was going to die, wasn’t he?

Sherlock kissed his way slowly down Greg’s neck, murmuring all the while. “You look so sexy like this, spread out and at my mercy.” He lapped over one of Greg’s nipples, his tongue flicking the peeked nub.

“I’ve been doing research you know. Planning what we can do next.” Greg whined as Sherlock nibbled at his nipple, tugging the skin with his teeth. He felt as if he was burning up from the inside out. “I think I’ll like to switch our positions next time. Would you like that? Having me tied down and at your mercy.” Sherlock voice was like melted chocolate, smooth and rich.

“Just imagine it Greg,” he continued, “Me bound below you, helpless and writhing as you tease and tease and _tease_.” Sherlock’s fingers curled wickedly inside of him with each word. Greg gasped at the images filling his head of Sherlock stretched out under him, whining with want as Greg kissed and licked at his hole. His entire body trembled at the thought.

“I think I’ll buy a vibrator. That way you’ll have both hands free to tease me,” Sherlock gasped, his voice sounded stilted as he thrust against Greg’s thigh. “Or maybe one day I’ll tie you down like this again and use the vibrator on _you_. Would you like that?” Sherlock fingers began stroking faster. “Would you like it buzzing and buzzing against you _here_?”  Greg swore as Sherlock’s fingers pressed up. “While you have no other choice but to lie back and _take it._ ”

Sherlock’s fingers were relentless, sliding in and out of him at a fast pace. Greg felt that familiar heat start to pool low in his belly. Yes, yes, _yes_! Sherlock sealed their lips together, swallowing Greg’s moans of pleasure, his own hips snapping against Greg’s leg.

The heat in Greg’s groin built and built. Sherlock pulled back, eyes locked on his, as his fingers slowed. Greg’s eyes rolled back in his head as each slow glide of Sherlock fingers felt like liquid fire running through his veins. His pleasure felt different this time, deeper, as if it was being pulled form his very core. He just needed a little more and- there! Greg let out glottal moan as he came, spurting hard over his chest and belly. It seemed to go on forever as waves of the deepest pleasure he’d ever felt washed over him. Sherlock fingers kept up their motion as he came, his entire body shaking. Distantly he was aware of Sherlock grinding hard against his leg and then the detective’s gasp filled the air as he came.

Greg blinked up at Sherlock as the detective carefully pulled his fingers out, and cleaned them with a wet wipe from the side table draw. His mind was gloriously quiet and every bone in his body felt like rubber. He smiled goofily up at Sherlock, who eyes were very warm as he cleaned off Greg’s chest and stomach. He gently untied Greg’s wrists and inspected them, his fingers rubbing gently at the red skin.

“Would you like some cream to sooth them?” he asked. Greg shook his head and held his arms open. What he wanted was a Sherlock to cuddle. Sherlock smiled and lay down next to him, pulling Greg in close.

Experiment successful then?” Greg asked a few moments later when he found his voice.

“Very,” Sherlock said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “Did you enjoy it?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” Greg teased, earning a startled bark of laughter from Sherlock.

“I’m defiantly buying that vibrator.”

Greg grinned, “I look forward to it.”

“I’m sure you do.” Sherlock said with a chuckle. Greg smiled and closed his eyes. It was early, but not taking a nap after what they had just done would be sacrilege.

“I’m testing it out on you first,” he said sleepily.

“I’d be most put out if you didn’t.”

Greg cuddled closer and tucked his head against Sherlock’s shoulder. Living with Sherlock would have its ups and downs he knew, living with anyone did, but Greg couldn't be happier. He was certain of one thing though, living with Sherlock Holmes was certainly going to be an adventure.

 

The End.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I can't believe I'm finished! 
> 
> I need to thank everyone who read and reviewed and left kudos! They mean the world to me, they really do! 
> 
> A very special thanks to legendwaitforitdarymoonpie and readinfanficswatchingshows for holding my hand all through this and giving me encouragement! You two are the best!


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